Before I Wake
by thestairwell
Summary: Every night while he sleeps, Kurt dreams of an unreal land and a boy in a coma. But behind the dreams is a dark force which will stop at nothing to get what it wants, and the Hummels have a habit of getting in its way. A Gothic fantasy season 2 AU.
1. BOOK ONE chapter i

**Warnings:** Later in the story I'll be definitely toeing the horror genre a bit. The story on LJ and Tumblr is rated an R (and Mature on AO3) so I'm starting BIW out on a T **but eventually I will change the rating to M** but **that M will not reflect smut**. You read that right, no smut, but there are some thinky thoughts and some heavy making out later in the story. There'll be semi-graphic violence in Book 3, hints at psychological/emotional manipulation in Books 2 and 3, and I get into Kurt's head about the bullying. There'll be warnings on individual chapters for more details and if you're unsure about anything, feel free to send me a PM and I'll answer. :)

**Notes:** There will be three Books in this story, and all three will be under the 'Before I Wake' title, since everything is part of the same story but each Book has its own arc.

Feel free to ask questions and share your theories – either here, on LJ, or on Tumblr (links in my profile; BIW is also published on all three platforms so pick your favourite to read from) – but I obviously won't be able to answer everything. You'll just have to trust me. (Also, you should go follow me on Tumblr. There's extra things and teasers and talking about all sorts of things. And on Tumblr you can ask me _anything_and there's a 99% chance I'll answer. Just sayin'. I'll stop pimping myself out now.)

* * *

**BEFORE I WAKE**

_Now I lay me down to sleep,  
I pray the Lord my soul to keep;  
If I should die before I wake,  
I pray the Lord my soul to take._

* * *

**BOOK ONE  
SOMEWHERE ONLY WE KNOW**

**chapter i**

The journal had been a lucky find, half hidden behind a mechanical clock and a dancing ballerina ornament in an antique store in Dayton. It was covered with battered brown leather, with an intricate gold pattern embossed around the edges, a worn gold-plated lock and key, and rough, cream-coloured pages; and Kurt had fallen in love with it instantly. It had been difficult to deflect Mercedes and Tina's questions – he'd never been the diary-keeping type – but well worth it, and he'd since used it every morning without fail.

He locked it now with a rueful expression; the dream was over and already starting to blur, and it was time to get ready for school.

"Kurt! You up, buddy?"

He smoothed the cover one last time before hiding the journal at the back of his desk drawer. "Yeah, Dad."

"I'm heading to the garage early today – John screwed up some inventory that I gotta sort out before we open. You alright having breakfast by yourself?"

"I'll be fine. See you after school."

"Knock 'em dead, kid."

There was the almost inaudible sound of footsteps moving away from Kurt's door, and then silence. Kurt flicked on his music – he'd had _Toxic_ on repeat since Mr Schue agreed to let them perform it at the homecoming assembly – and sang and danced along as he moisturised and got dressed.

He was, perhaps foolishly, optimistic about the homecoming assembly. Even though Mr Schue had barged in on their performance, even though the New Directions were still at the bottom of the social heap, even though their previous school performances had ended with varying degrees of humiliation, this was _Britney Spears_ – who didn't love the Pop Princess?

The good mood left over from his dream, as usual, started to fade as he ate breakfast, and gave away almost completely to dread by the time he pulled into a parking space at school. He pushed on his sunglasses with a silent sigh, shouldered his satchel, and was greeted on the way to his locker by a particularly vicious shove by Karofsky.

"You alright, Kurt?" Mercedes asked, helping him off the floor. (Where had she been thirty seconds ago, huh? But no, that was unfair. All the glee kids were bullied. Even if Kurt had sacrificed himself for them, he shouldn't expect protection in return; he would have been bullied no matter what.)

"I'm fine," he said, switching his bag to his other shoulder so he wouldn't aggravate the bruise that would already be forming. He turned the conversation to last night's episode of _America's Next Top Model_ and they chattered excitedly until they reached the choir room. Tina and Quinn joined in (Quinn had very harsh opinions against one bratty contestant) until it was time to change into their costumes and squeeze in a last minute practice.

* * *

Kurt didn't often have baths (frequent and extended soaking was bad for his skin) but he'd been in desperate need of one all day – hot enough to turn his skin pink, a lavender-scented bath bomb, a sandalwood candle, gentle violin music from the speakers balanced on top of the cistern.

The assembly had, predictably, ended in disaster, and he'd been locker checked three more times for his troubles so his back and shoulders were aching. His body was probably dotted with bruises but Kurt didn't want to look to confirm.

By the time his dad got home, Kurt had washed away the (mostly imaginary) dirt of McKinley and started on dinner (tonight was chicken korma, naan bread and a salad – it was a constant battle but the Hummels would have a healthy diet if it was the last thing Kurt did). As they ate, Kurt told his dad the edited-for-parental-consumption version of the assembly and bemoaned Mr Schue ending the assignment a day early because he'd had a Britney number ready to go for three weeks.

"You need me to go see the principal again?" Burt asked. "I know the whole _Flying Gravity_—"

"Defying_ Gravity_."

"—didn't work out but I've seen that Facebook campaign you've got."

After the initial knee jerk panic of his dad on his Facebook account passed – after all, there was never anything incriminating on there – he sighed and poked at his rice.

"It's fine, Dad. I think Mr Schue's ruined Britney for me now, anyway." He pulled an overly dramatic grimace but Burt looked unconvinced.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

Burt sighed in resignation and matched Kurt's small smile, and they ate for a few more minutes in silence until Burt cleared his throat awkwardly.

"If you, you know, still wanna perform your song – or any song, really – you've always got a willing audience."

A smile stretched across Kurt's face unbidden, and his heart swelled.

"Thanks, Dad." He took a thoughtful bite and then continued, "I left my costume in my locker, and we'll have to do with the light show and the girls backing me up, but how about tomorrow?"

"Sorry, kid, I've got a date." Kurt hid a smile in his next bite. He was so glad his dad and Carole had decided to continue dating after the failed moving in attempt. "But I'm all yours Saturday. We could go all out, let me see all those songs I hear you practising all hours, have a proper concert. Hell, I think we've still got those disco lights up in the attic."

"Aside from the fact that disco sucks and disco lights are tacky and awful, Saturday doesn't work for me. I've finally convinced Tina to let me give her a full makeover so we're driving up to Columbus and we're having a sleepover."

"Columbus? Christ, Kurt, it would've been nice to have a bit of warning before you go gallivanting across the state."

"Columbus is, like, two hours away."

"Fine, long distance, whatever. Point is, you just decided this on your own and I'm only hearing about this now."

Kurt sighed irritably. "I'm sorry, it must have just slipped my mind."

"Don't take that tone with me, Kurt." He levelled his gaze at Kurt in the way that made his stomach twist guiltily. "Columbus isn't exactly easy to get to if you get in trouble, you know? And there was that pile-up on Route 33 at the beginning of summer—" Kurt flinched. "—and you're not even seventeen yet – you've still gotta tell me when you make plans like staying out for the night. Were you even gonna remember to tell me?"

With great effort, Kurt stayed still in his seat and remained dry-eyed. "I'm sorry, Dad," he said in a quieter voice. I didn't mean . . ."

"I know."

They ate the rest of the meal in heavy silence. Burt mumbled a compliment as they transferred their plates to the kitchen, which Kurt accepted with a nod as he handed over the washing up gloves.

"Would you mind cleaning up on your own tonight?" he asked hesitantly. "I've got a lot of homework."

"Kurt."

"Please, Dad? I don't wanna end up stuck inside over the weekend." He widened his eyes imploringly as Burt hesitated.

"Wipe the table and then you can go," he relented, turning to the sink. Kurt felt his stomach tighten from his father's disappointment so he hurried to his room in an attempt to escape.

And, aside from a ''Night, Kurt' called down at half ten, that was it.

* * *

Kurt had always loved his moisturising routine (or, he had for the two years he'd been doing it). He loved the rhythm of slow circles, the calming, soothing rub of his fingers, the unchanging regularity at the end of his day. Recently – just over two months, to be exact – he also loved the anticipation coiling in his stomach, slowly building up so that by the time he went to bed, his body was practically vibrating.

Over the weeks, he's become very good at forcing himself to sleep: slow down his breathing, keep his eyes closed, tense then relax his limbs until they were too heavy to move.

And then he opened his eyes to a clear, bright blue, sunless sky and a gorgeously lush pine forest.

He was currently sitting against one of the trees (it was a good tree, purposefully chosen because the roots made it possible for him to curl up just so) so stood, brushing down his pyjamas out of habit rather than necessity. He looked around to get his bearings and then set off to what had been unimaginatively dubbed 'the Waiting Lake'.

The Lake was beautiful, an irregular oval at least two hundred feet at its longest. The water was warm, and clear enough to see the bottom shimmering several feet below; at its shallowest point Kurt couldn't touch the bottom yet it looked like it would barely reach his chest. There was almost no gap between the edge of the lake and the encompassing forest. Roots breached the walls of the lake and Kurt frequently wrapped his legs around them, and one of the trees which had fallen over made for an excellent diving board. From where the forest was thickest there reached for a couple of feet a pile of rocks, some of which made surprisingly comfortable seats.

When Kurt drew close enough to see the water shimmering through the trees, he started to look for the rocks. As always, there was a curly-haired boy sitting on Kurt's favourite. Today, his shoes and socks had been abandoned, cast away to join his blazer and tie by the edge of the lake in favour of dipping his feet into the water.

Kurt called out to him, and Blaine turned around, his smile wide and eyes shining.

* * *

When Kurt told Blaine about the assembly, he didn't leave anything out (Blaine always doubled over with laughter whenever Kurt admitted to the New Directions causing sex riots, so Kurt pushed away his mortification and found himself laughing at them as well), although he did soften the cruelty of his peers. There was no point in lying to Blaine, just as there was no point in Blaine lying to him: they could read each other too well.

"Let me see your back?" Blaine asked, pushing himself from lying down up onto his knees.

"What?" Kurt blinked up at him. "Why?"

"I just want to make sure you're okay."

Kurt sighed exasperatedly, ignoring the thrill in his stomach. "Again, why? I don't hurt here."

The concern in Blaine's eyes stopped Kurt's breath for a second.

"I know whatever we do here won't affect you in the Real World," he said. "I'm just worried."

How could Kurt say no to that? With another sigh, he pushed himself off the ground and waited until he had his back to Blaine before taking off his pyjama top. As it dropped off his shoulders, Blaine breathed a soft 'oh, Kurt' which made him close his eyes. His back must be worse than he thought.

Then his eyes snapped open again when he felt light touches on his back. Blaine's fingers danced lightly over his skin in a pattern Kurt couldn't figure out. The rough edge of the callouses (supposedly from the guitar, which Blaine was supposedly not very good at) left Kurt's skin tingling, and a barely-there press of something much softer than fingers raised goosebumps all over his body.

"What are you doing?" he asked, and then flushed at how strangled his voice sounded. Blaine's voice, by contrast, was unfairly steady when he replied, "Tracing your bruises. This one—" he ran a finger in a vaguely circular shape just below his shoulder "—is quite bad."

"Karofsky," Kurt sighed. "This morning. I hadn't even got to my locker yet."

Blaine's fingers stilled, and then his hand moved to grip Kurt's uninjured shoulder comfortingly.

"I wish I could help you," he said, sorrowful and resigned and just a little bit frustrated.

"You do." Kurt turned his head to exchange small smiles with Blaine, and then put his top back on. After a few moments of silence during which they repositioned themselves to lie on their stomachs facing the Lake, he said, "You know, one of my favourite things about this place is that I feel awake, but my body doesn't hurt, and when I wake up in the Real World I feel completely rested."

"And here I thought I was one of your favourite things," Blaine teased, knocking Kurt's shoulder. Kurt looked at him mirthfully.

"I don't think the song mentioned anything about Blaines."

"Sure it did! _No sudden downpours or bodily pain_ – uh – _Curly-haired, charming, oh so dapper Blaine_ – see?"

Kurt tried to keep playing along – he wanted to hear me more Blaine stumbling over his rewording of _My Favourite Things_ – but it was so bad that he couldn't help bursting into laughter. His shoulders shook with the force of it and he hid his face in his hands because he surely looked ridiculous right now. After a beat, Blaine joined in, and when finally laughter faded to giggles faded to happy silence, Kurt looked at Blaine out of the corner of his eye and saw the other boy looking pleased with himself.

"You're such a dork," he said fondly.

"Wouldn't love me otherwise," Blaine replied. Kurt's heart stuttered and he felt his cheeks and ears heat up, and then he felt foolish.

"I dunno. It's a bit unsettling how much you know about _Harry Potter_." His voice sounded strange to his own ears – a bit forced and higher and breathier than his usual voice – but he hoped Blaine couldn't tell.

"How dare you! You can _never_ know too much about _Harry Potter_!" Blaine whispered in feigned shock. Then he knocked against Kurt's shoulder again and smiled, and Kurt looked back out over the water again, a smile lingering on his own lips.

"Like I said. Such a dork."

After a while, Kurt told Blaine about the rest of his day. He whispered his guilt about disappointing his dad. He complained about his homework, which had been piling up the entire week as Kurt had put most of his focus into ways he could persuade Mr Schue to do Britney. His mention of his bath triggered a conversation about aromatherapy and different scents and Blaine telling Kurt about the time he'd been dragged to a spa by his mother when he was seven because his nanny was sick (and then Kurt teased Blaine about having a nanny).

Too soon – it always happened too soon – Kurt could feel his body getting lighter and sighed sadly.

"Are you waking up?" Blaine asked. He reached out and took Kurt's hand, and even though they did this every night, Blaine's warmth never failed to make his heart race.

"Yeah." He squeezed Blaine's hand before letting go, and then forced himself to stand up, to find somewhere Blaine wouldn't be able to see him dis- or reappear. "See you later."

"'Bye, Kurt," Blaine called. Kurt looked over his shoulder to smile at him and then found a cosy-looking root out of Blaine's line of sight which he could curl up in. With a soft sigh, Kurt closed his eyes, and when he opened them he was back in his bedroom, alarm blaring. He turned it off, rolled out of bed, and then padded over to his desk. He took out the journal and wrote about Blaine.


	2. chapter ii

**chapter ii**

With a huff, Kurt threw his car into park and strode across the parking lot. Okay, so maybe he hadn't _needed_ to camp out to buy those _Grey's Anatomy_ DVDs, but everyone knew the best night to attend a show was either its opening or closing night and Kurt had been looking forward to the Sing-a-long Sound of Music since last year. He would miss two nights – was that really such a big deal? He did more than coexist with his dad, and he saw Finn at school, and every now and then he would drag Carole out for new clothes and a touch-up on her hair. Two nights wouldn't start him off down a slippery slope.

Bringing up his mom had been a really low blow.

_I gotta tell you, Kurt, I'm real disappointed in you._

Guilt welled up in his chest and he blinked against the sudden sting in his eyes and he told himself that his dad _wasn't_ being a hypocrite. Friday night dinners were a tradition – sacred – because his mom had started them. They were to bring the family closer together. For a while now, that family had lost his mom and gained Carole and Finn, and Carole being there _was not_ any kind of betrayal to his mom.

He wouldn't miss the sing-a-long because that would be unfair but he'd make it up to his dad somehow. Next time there was a game on, Kurt would actually pay attention. He could always make a bit of an effort – as much as his dad insisted Kurt just be himself and let Burt adapt, Kurt still wanted to make it a bit easier for him, and his days as a cheerleader last year had built up a resistance to getting bored out of his mind watching sport.

Resolved, Kurt breathed deeply, letting out his frustration on the exhale, and put their argument out his mind.

* * *

His day went relatively smoothly, bar the lingering guilt whenever he remembered _I'm real disappointed in you_. Madame Williams paired him with Azimio in French, and Kurt would have suspected some sort of backwards idea that making them work together in class would improve Kurt's bullying in the halls if the teachers weren't so wilfully oblivious or uncaring.

He was taking this golden opportunity to throw insults at the jock which he would never be stupid enough to say in English, and he delighted at how Azimio could only sit there and splutter terribly-pronounced phrases from the text book.

"Kurt?"

Kurt turned, and he barely had time to wonder what Mr Schuester was doing in his French class before he took in his expression and his stomach dropped. Ms Pillsbury looked at him with an expression that matched, an expression of sympathy and pity.

"Can I talk to you outside?"

It was the same expression the doctor had worn when he'd told Burt and his son that his wife was dying.

* * *

That night, Blaine was spread out on the grass like a starfish, his eyes closed and a smile on his lips. Kurt sat down next to him silently, drawing his knees up to his chest, and Blaine hummed thoughtfully.

"You know," he said, "time passes weirdly here. I can never really tell whether it lasts hours or minutes, but I can always tell when it's time for you to come. You were late today," he teased, his smile growing as he opened his eyes. But then he saw Kurt's face and his smile dropped – god, how bad did he look? Blaine shot up to sit in front of Kurt, and reached out to take his hands. "Kurt, what's wrong?"

"My dad had a heart attack," Kurt said, looking at his knees. He knew his voice was soft but he'd hardly been able to find any energy for anything since Burt didn't squeeze his hand back. "He won't wake up."

Blaine sucked in a breath and his grip tightened. Kurt almost wanted to cry because Blaine was here; someone he could only see while he was asleep was able to hold his hand, and his dad wasn't.

"Oh, Kurt," he said thickly. Kurt glanced up and saw Blaine's eyes wide and swimming with tears.

"Can you just hold me?" Kurt asked, voice going quieter for fear of rejection even though he knew Blaine wouldn't say 'no'.

"Of course, Kurt, anything."

Blaine moved to sit beside Kurt and held out his arms, and Kurt all but collapsed into his chest. Every now and then Blaine would draw in a shuddering breath but he never stopped stroking his hand over Kurt's arms and back. Kurt had never been more grateful for and to Blaine, for being there, for being what he needed, for ignoring Kurt's silent tears as they ran down his cheeks and fell on Blaine's shirt, and for not drawing attention to his own.

They didn't move until it was time for Kurt to wake up.

* * *

What followed was the worst week of Kurt's life, even more than when his mom had died because now he was practically an orphan. His friends only talked about either Burt's coma, which was getting really annoying because only five of them had actually met him, or Kurt's atheism, which was annoying and hurtful from the start because apparently there had to be _something_ about him which was immoral. According to Mercedes and Quinn, his dad wouldn't wake up because Kurt didn't believe in God.

(What if they were right?)

His only saving graces had been Coach Sylvester (but he couldn't take relief from that for more than five minutes before his fellow glee club members started jumping down his throat) and Blaine. Wonderful Blaine who didn't judge him for his last (no, most recent, because it wouldn't be their last) conversation with his dad or his atheism, who listened to Kurt's stories about his parents and his rants about his fellow glee clubbers, who was more than willing to comfort Kurt in whatever capacity he needed. Wonderful Blaine who cried with him when Burt woke up and who insisted they celebrate with poorly constructed leaf hats (in lieu of party hats) and dancing.

"How come you're spending less time here lately?" Blaine asked a couple of weeks later.

"Doctor Simmons said Dad has to take it easy for the next few weeks, which means he's not allowed to go to work or really do anything around the house. Carole tries to come round every day to help but she does have a life outside the Hummels, and I've been picking up some shifts at the garage so Dad doesn't have to worry too much."

"Kurt, I don't think your dad would like to know you're potentially compromising your own health."

"It's just a couple of hours of sleep, Blaine," Kurt replied sharply. "Six hours a night for a few weeks isn't going to do anything to my health. Dad needs to be looked after and I'm all he's got."

"You _just_ mentioned Carole."

"Who, like I said, has a life outside the Hummels. She can't be there all the time to make sure he takes his medicine or sticks to his diet – mostly she just cleans the house and keeps Dad company for a few hours."

"What about Finn?"

Kurt just scoffed.

"Kurt, I know he's your dad and I know you still feel guilty about that argument—" Kurt drew in a sharp breath "—but you can't keep looking after him all by yourself. You have school and glee club and friends; it's not fair that you have to work for hours or be Burt's sole caretaker."

"You're right, Blaine, it's not fair. It's not fair that my mom died when I was eight. It's not fair that I go to a school which doesn't even bother to _pretend_ not to notice all the bullying going on. It's not fair that I'm the only out gay kid at my school or that I can't live without bruises while school's in session. It's not fair that all my friends have been treating me differently since they found out I'm an atheist and it's not fair that my best friend is in a coma and this is the only place I get to see him. It's not fair that I have to look after my dad by myself because Carole's the only person who's offered to help. There are a lot of things about my life that aren't fair and I can either whine about it or deal with it."

"There's no shame in asking for help when you need it."

"Has that ever worked out for you?" Kurt retorted.

"This is an entirely different situation. Couldn't one of your friends do the little jobs at the garage like changing oil or tires, or even just help you get your jobs done faster? Or someone could come over and make dinner while you do your homework. You could sort something out with the school so you can leave early to help at the garage or be home with your dad."

"Yeah, like the school board would go for that." Kurt shook his head. "No. All asking for help will do is get me pitying looks."

"Kurt—"

"Just drop it, Blaine!"

Blaine's jaw snapped shut and he turned his head to look back over the Lake. Kurt's stomach rolled – this was the first real conflict the two had had and Kurt hated it. He tensed and then, after counting to ten, relaxed his muscles; his time in the Cheerios had given him some excellent relaxation techniques and he couldn't apologise sincerely to Blaine if he still sounded like he was five seconds away from shouting.

"I'm sorry, Blaine," Kurt said quietly, looking at the Lake but watching Blaine in his peripheral vision. "I know you're just trying to help. I shouldn't have snapped at you."

After a slight hesitation, Blaine said, "Okay." His body relaxed and it was only when he'd turned to look at Kurt again with a small smile that Kurt allowed himself to look back at Blaine. Blaine's smile widened a little as he held out his hand and brightened a little when Kurt took it. He ran his thumb over Kurt's knuckles and then stood up. "Come on," he said, "we've been sitting around too much lately and I'm bored."

"Do I have to?"

"Yes. Come on! I wanna find a good tree to climb."

Kurt grumbled half heartedly as he stood up. He was barely vertical before Blaine started pulling him along and Kurt stumbled.

"Sorry!" Blaine called, grinning impishly and tugging on Kurt's hand.

"Sure you are."

They had to let go of each other's hands to climb over the rocks and then their hands were too busy climbing or evaluating trees to rejoin them. Kurt teased Blaine whenever he could reach a branch the smaller boy couldn't, but eventually they found a thick tree with a two solid branches close enough together so they could hold hands again (Blaine insisted he take the higher branch since the stretch would be easier).

"Would be nice if there were something to look at," Kurt said absentmindedly, imagining some mountains in the distance and maybe the New York skyline instead of just endless trees. Blaine hummed in agreement and then said, "Kurt?"

Kurt tilted his head up and saw a peculiar expression on the other boy's face. "Yeah?"

"Did you mean what you said earlier?"

Kurt's stomach tightened in apprehension. "What did I say?"

"When you," Blaine said haltingly, "called me . . . your best friend?"

"Oh." Kurt flushed and looked away, embarrassed.

"It's okay if you didn't," Blaine added quickly, his tone reassuring but his grip on Kurt's hand stiff. "Sorry, I didn't, uh . . ."

"You – you are. My best friend. You're my best friend." His face felt like it was on fire and he really, really wished he were awake right now.

"You're my best friend too, Kurt," Blaine said. Kurt risked a glance and saw the boy literally beaming at him. He flushed heavier and ducked his head. "Actually, you're probably the best friend I've ever had. Although you don't particularly have much competition – for the first nine years of my life was Elliot who always took my toys, and then Cass abandoned me when I came out."

Kurt squeezed Blaine's hand and smiled, though he was still too flustered to look at him.

"Well, I promise to neither steal your toys nor abandon you."

"Thanks."

"Though I make no such promises about your clothes."

"You've only ever seen me in my uniform."

"You've described your closet to me plenty. One day you're having the Kurt Hummel Shopping Experience."

"Sounds ominous."

Kurt smirked at Blaine.

"It is nothing of the sort."


	3. first interlude

******Disclaimer:** All my medical knowledge comes from Wikipedia, ComaCARE and _Scrubs_ so everything's probably wrong.

* * *

**first interlude**

This was without a doubt the weirdest dream Blaine had ever had. It was definitely the dream with the prettiest landscape – he'd never seen trees so green or water so clear. He spent most of his time sitting either next to the lake or on top of the tree which had fallen over it, and when the silence started getting to him he sang. (He saw his reflection once. His hair gel had lost effect and the sight of a Dalton gentleman with frizzy curls made him half laugh, half grimace so he'd dumped his tie and blazer by the lake and hadn't touched them since.)

After a while, he heard voices. They seemed to echo through the trees, bouncing through the trunks and leaves so they could have come from any direction. He was bemused, to begin with, because he mostly heard his brother's voice and they'd never been especially close, their lives more passing by each other than intertwining. Occasionally there were his parents' voices, and his friends from Dalton. Sometimes they told him what was going on, catching him up on things; sometimes they begged or pleaded or cried for him to wake up. The latter times made his stomach twist uncomfortably, but then the voices fell silent and Blaine would sing again.

Then he heard a voice he didn't recognise, a woman, talking to the disembodied voices of his parents.

_Head trauma. Internal bleeding. Punctured lung. Two broken ribs. A broken collar bone. Broken . . . all down his left side. Comatose._

This wasn't a dream.

And, in vivid bursts which left him a with lingering phantom pain, Blaine began to remember.

He remembered leaving the house, locking it behind him because his dad had gone to work already and his mom was still asleep. He remembered singing along to every song on his iPod, except for the ones he'd be rehearsing with the Warblers for the next six hours, as he drove out of Kenton and down US-33. He remembered smoke and cars too close together and slamming on his breaks so hard his car screeched sideways as another car crashed into him. He remembered the smell and the metallic tang of his blood as he tried to cry out and the shock of agony throughout his entire body before everything was replaced by whatever this place was.

He didn't move for what felt like an age after that. The voices continued, as loud as ever, although he barely heard them. He avoided the lake, too. His singing had been so carefree that it felt wrong to go back there, and besides that he hated to catch his reflection any more. He'd picked a random direction and walked until he hadn't wanted to, but the voices never grew any quieter or louder and Blaine still didn't know how to react.

He guessed days were passing, though he had no hope of keeping track. No matter who was visiting him at the hospital (and there was a thought which left his insides cold), he would always hear Cooper's voice at some point, or else there was silence.

One day, he heard someone singing. To begin with, he just dismissed it – sometimes the nurses or Cooper would sing to him. He quickly realised, however, that he'd never heard anyone singing Lady Gaga to him, and on top of that the voice seemed to be changing in volume in a way that suggested someone was moving away instead of lowering their voice. Excitement mixed with relief and a hint of trepidation rushed through Blaine as he shouted out, "Hello?"

The world fell silent, and Blaine's heart sank. Had he just been making it up? Was he finally going crazy with no one to talk to?

But then, the voice called back, "Hello? Is someone there?"

"Yes! Stay – stay where you are. But keep singing so I can find you."

_Bad Romance_ started up again. Blaine jumped to his feet and followed the voice, and it was just about to move into the bridge when Blaine caught sight of a boy through the trees. He had light brown hair and pale skin, and he was wearing what looked like deep blue pyjamas.

"Hi!" he called out cheerfully, a light feeling spreading through his chest because now he wouldn't be alone any more. The boy stopped singing and looked at Blaine curiously as he approached.

"Hi," the boy replied as Blaine got closer.

"Have you been here long?" Blaine asked.

"Hmm, I can't tell. Although I think it's been all night by now."

"What do you mean?"

"Time passes strangely here." The boy looked thoughtful for a moment and then nodded and smiled at Blaine. "I made a game to guess how long it is until I wake up and I'm not usually far off. I've been having these dreams all week now and I'm five for seven."

Blaine's body felt cold and his tongue heavy as he asked, "You can wake up?"

"Of course."

Blaine couldn't move, and then the boy began to quickly fade away, smiling triumphantly.

"I thought so!" he said, just before he disappeared entirely. Blaine blinked dumbly. Then his legs gave out and he fell to the ground and cried.


	4. chapter iii

**EDIT** If you read the first unedited version of this, I am so so sorry – I got my files mixed up and uploaded the wrong one!

* * *

******chapter iii**

If Kurt were totally, one hundred percent honest with himself, he was really fed up of crushing on unavailable guys: if he wasn't straight, he was in a coma. So when Sam Evans walked into glee club about a month after his dad's heart attack with his bottle-blonde hair, dorky introduction and cute smile, he realised this was the perfect opportunity to not only get over Blaine but to potentially get an actual, real-life boyfriend too.

As Mr Schue babbled on about the deeper meaning of duets, Kurt nudged Mercedes and whispered, "He's on Team Gay. No straight boy dies his hair to look like Linda Evangelista circa 1993."

"You're crazy. Circa 2010."

They exchanged smirks and Kurt tuned back in to Mr Schue.

". . . and that is what duets are all about. So, this week, I want you to pair up and sing a duet. _And_, since you guys all seemed to love our little _Defying Gravity_ diva off, I'm making this a competition." Geez, what the hell was with everyone bringing up _Defying Gravity_ all of a sudden?

"What's the winner get?" Mike asked.

"Dinner for two, on me . . . at Breadstix."

The room erupted into excited chatter and Kurt looked back at Sam.

"Who are you gonna sing with, Kurt?" Mercedes asked him. Kurt looked at her and just smiled. She rolled her eyes in amusement, and then the bell rang and Mr Schue let them go. "Go get him, boy," she chuckled as Sam left the room.

"See you at lunch." Kurt winked at her, grabbed his satchel, and hurried after Sam. He had to catch up to the other boy before someone else got him to duet.

He saw Sam emptying his bag into his locker, smiled to himself, and walked over with a bounce in his step. And maybe he came on a little strong but Sam replied to his email of audio samples with a _sounds gr8 dude ny ideas yet?_ so he went to bed happy.

* * *

"Blaine?" he called as he neared the Lake, noticing the other boy wasn't on the rock or on the ground.

"Over here!"

Kurt looked around and saw Blaine perching on some of the tree roots, his slacks pushed up to his knees so they wouldn't get wet.

Knees should not be allowed to look so appealing.

"Hey. What are you doing over here?"

Blaine shrugged. "I couldn't get comfy on the rock." He carefully stood up and took Kurt's hand to balance himself as he stepped back onto the grass.

Kurt hesitated. All day, he'd been telling himself (_convincing himself_) that he couldn't wait to see Blaine and tell him all about the duets competition and the new member of the New Directions who is super cute and might actually be gay, or at least bi. But faced with actually telling him? Looking at the ever-present upwards curve of his lips and the frizzy curls which tumbled into his wide, earnest (_not_ sparkling, _not_ beautiful, _not_ stunning) eyes?

Not a chance. He skimmed over glee club, said he was still deciding his partner, and mostly the two boys sat with their bare feet dangling in the water, holding hands as they alternated between Broadway classics and companionable silence.

* * *

Despite his quite frankly ridiculous feeling of betrayal (he was _not_ dating Blaine, because Blaine was in a coma and they'd never met in the Real World and Blaine didn't even feel the same way), Kurt was excited to sing with Sam. This would be his first duet sung with another boy which other people would see, after all, and he could still potentially get a boyfriend.

But apparently, the dwarf on the dark side of the moon couldn't let Kurt be happy for very long, because the next day Finn cornered him in the cafeteria.

"You can't do this to him," he said, and Kurt's stomach twisted painfully. "If he sings with you, you're painting a bulls-eye on his back."

It was surprisingly easy to keep his voice level as he retorted, "Once again, your closeted homophobia seeps to the surface like the contents of a crack cesspool."

"Don't give me that." Finn lowered his voice as he continued, "Look, I know I shouldn't have used that word in your basement but it's not like you were innocent. I really like you Kurt, but the fact of the matter is, you were all over me last year. If I did that to a girl, she'd take out a restraining order."

_Like hell you would, you hypocritical oaf._ "You have issues with me being gay, I get it."

"No, actually, I don't, I have issues with the fact that you don't understand that no means no."

He wanted to scream, "But you never said 'no'! You never told me to back off! The only thing you ever did to dissuade me was insult the bedroom I'd spent hours creating! Maybe you should have this conversation with Rachel too!"

He wanted to shout, "I have a crush on someone else! Someone who I know for sure is gay! Why don't you believe I can want to be platonic friends with a straight guy?"

Instead, he squashed down his hurt and said, "I just wanna sing with him."

"Then you don't give a damn about any of us." Finn paused for that to sink in, but all Kurt could think of was the way every single person he knew, every single one of those 'us', looked the other way when he slammed into a locker or a wall or the floor. "If he sings with you, I guarantee within a week, he'll take so much crap, he'll have to quit glee club. Your call, dude," he finished shortly and walked away.

Kurt breathed deeply, trying to ignore the stinging in his eyes. Maybe, he thought scathingly, he should just wear a sign saying, WILD GAY, APPROACH WITH CAUTION. Perhaps that would keep Finn – and every other straight male his existence seemed to offend – satisfied.

He looked down at his tray – it was all light food since he hadn't been feeling particularly hungry – but now, even the thought of eating anything made his stomach roll.

He dumped his food in the trash, left the cafeteria, and wished more than anything he could pick up the phone and Blaine would be on the other end of the line.

The dwarf on the dark side of the moon proved to be against him again later when he was talking to his dad. He would have been mortified that his dad found out about his crush on Finn but he was too busy being upset that Burt was on Finn's side. (_Finn_, Kurt couldn't help thinking with some resentment, _who is the quarterback of the football team, eats like four horses and has two _girls_ fighting over him_, even though his flamboyancy had been a non-issue for months now.)

"You gotta understand, most guys don't know how to deal with unwanted advances." The _from other guys_ hung bitterly in the air between them.

"So you're saying I shouldn't sing with this Sam guy because it might upset a couple of homophobes. I thought no one pushes the Hummels around!"

Burt sighed, and Kurt felt a little guilty they have to have this conversation while his dad was still barely allowed to leave the couch. But his dad had always supported Kurt, had been his rock ever since his mom died, from tea parties in their best clothes to fighting for his right to audition for a song originally sung by a woman; he couldn't help but think of this as a betrayal.

"No one does, I'm – I'm not saying that. I'm saying that maybe it's . . . you . . . who's pushing this kid Sam around trying to take advantage of him because you're interested in him."

Definitely a betrayal. One which would not be happening if he or Sam were a girl, because he was being a lot less pushy than Rachel had been last year with Finn while he was still with Quinn.

But at least Burt hadn't looked at him while he said it; Kurt didn't know if he could have taken that.

And then Blaine agreed with both of them, and Kurt was officially fed up. (He was also righteously pissed off and incredulous, because this was something Blaine should have _agreed_ with!)

"Are you serious?" he demanded. "You really think it's so _selfish_ of me to want to sing with another boy? It's not like I'm gonna be making out with him in front of the entire football team!"

Blaine looked a little queasy for a moment and then shook his head. "I didn't say that, Kurt, stop putting words in my mouth."

"You said that Finn and my dad might have a point," Kurt said sourly, and Blaine shook his head again.

"Only to an extent – which I would have been able to say had you not interrupted me." He raised an eyebrow at Kurt, who huffed and then slumped moodily where he was sitting. "If you lived in a more accepting town, I'd support you a hundred and ten percent. But McKinley sounds like my old high school with bonus slushies. I'm not encouraging you to play by the Straight Man's rules, but I _do_ think you need to show a little discretion."

"So I should change who I am, or pretend to be someone else, so I don't chase the new guy away."

"I really admire you, Kurt." The abrupt, sincere confession surprised Kurt, and he sat up and looked at Blaine curiously. "If I still went to public high school, there's no way I would've had the courage to sing with another guy." A dark shadow passed over Blaine's face, his eyebrows furrowing, and then the moment was gone and Kurt wondered what had happened at Blaine's first school.

"So what do you suggest?" Kurt asked. His tone was still a little waspish, but the way Blaine's shoulders sagged infinitesimally with relief dissipated whatever bad mood was still lingering.

"It's a delicate situation you're in," Blaine mused, his hand brushing through the grass absentmindedly. "Two guys singing together probably won't get the best reception outside your club, but with the right song you shouldn't get too much crap for it."

Kurt didn't say anything, and Blaine fell silent to let Kurt think, for which he was grateful.

He'd got an email from Sam earlier saying that it didn't matter what other people thought, he'd agreed for them to sing together and he was a man of his word, so had he come up with any ideas yet? Kurt supposed that meant Finn had cornered Sam too, and his shoulders slumped again.

Sam was, in all probability, straight, and his willingness to sing with a guy who was flamboyant as well as gay was honourable. But it wasn't fair to make him deal with the inevitable backlash from singing a duet with the school gay. Bad enough Kurt had to deal with it.

"So no romance?" Kurt asked, trying to keep his voice light and his smile this side of rueful.

"No romance," Blaine agreed with a sigh, and his returning smile was sad.

* * *

The next day, Kurt found Sam in the locker room and broke off their deal. At least he managed to give him some haircare advice.

This did, however, leave him without a partner, and a mental rundown of the remaining glee club members left him a little morose. Predictably, the established couples were paired up; surprisingly, Mercedes and Santana were working together (to be honest, Kurt was really looking forward to hearing how they sounded together); the only person left was Quinn, and she'd stopped talking to him the moment she had her Cheerio uniform back and was no longer a fellow bottom-rung outcast.

When he announced his change of plans to the club, Sam had the graces to look guilty (even though it wasn't his fault, and Kurt was taken aback by how much he hoped they could at least become friends). Finn, the bastard, just looked relieved, and everyone else's sympathetic looks left him feeling strangely hollow. But he was a performer, and a damn good one, so he gave a truly spectacular rendition of _Le Jazz Hot_, talked cheerfully with his dad and Carole and Finn when the Hudsons came over for dinner, and only let his walls drop when he collapsed dramatically next to Blaine on his favourite rock.

"You okay, Kurt?" he asked, bemused.

"I let Sam go."

The atmosphere turned somber and Blaine looked guilty. (Why were all the wrong people feeling guilty? It wasn't Sam's fault or Burt's fault or Blaine's fault, but somehow they were the only people expressing any remorse.)

"It isn't because of what I said, was it?"

"Not really." Kurt smiled at his friend and patted his arm. "You and Dad had some very good points, and I needed that. I was being selfish – no, I _was_," he insisted, talking over Blaine's protest. "I was only thinking about how excited I was to be able to sing with another boy – you know, that other people know about – and so I wasn't thinking about Sam at all. It can't be easy being the new kid _and_ being in glee, and singing with me would just have made his life needlessly difficult."

Blaine grasped his hand, his expression a mixture of admiration, regret and sympathy. Kurt offered him another smile, though this one felt forced.

"I'm hoping we can still be friends," he added. Blaine laughed, and his heart felt just a little bit lighter.

"I hope so too."

They talked mindlessly after that for a while, until Blaine splashed Kurt so much that Kurt really had no choice but to push the curly-haired boy into the Lake. Blaine broke the surface, face red as he spluttered with laughter.

"Oops." Kurt smiled innocently. And then suddenly he was falling, and then he was in the water as well. He pushed his sopping hair out of his face, and glared reproachfully at Blaine.

"Oops," he echoed.

"You're incorrigible. How many innocent people have you fooled with that Dalton uniform?"

"I'm offended you think I'm so dishonourable." But he was grinning, and Kurt laughed. With only a little bit of splashing and pushing each other back underwater, they swam over to the bank and hauled themselves out. Kurt used the abandoned blazer to squeeze out his hair while Blaine used his tie to wipe off his face.

They didn't really do much of anything, then – just lay back on the grass, looking up at the endlessly (boringly) blue sky until Kurt felt his body grow lighter. They exchanged a hug before Kurt hid somewhere to wake up, and his good mood carried him right through to the school hallway after second period when Karofsky almost slammed his fingers in his locker and he and Azimio gave him a double slushie.


	5. chapter iv

******chapter iv**

"I just realised, you never told me how the rest of the duets competition went," Blaine said the Tuesday after the event in question ended. "Who did you end up singing with?"

Kurt stilled.

"Kurt, what's wrong?" Blaine asked, concern colouring his voice. Kurt looked up through his lashes and shrugged.

"I'm fine," he assured him, "it just . . . isn't a big deal."

"But you were so excited about it." Blaine's face screwed up in confusion.

Kurt bit his lip, pulled up a few blades of grass and twisted them in his fingers. He rarely wanted to keep anything from Blaine but the few occasions he did, the other boy had so far always managed to get it out of him sooner or later anyway. It was the lack of distractions – in a place with no extra coffee runs or CD players or changing scenery or other people (combined with Blaine's attentiveness), Kurt found it much harder to deflect the attention away from himself.

"Sam partnered up with Quinn," he eventually said, "and their nauseatingly sweet, heterosexual, Aryan duet won them a dinner at Breadstix. Oh!" He perked up and turned to face Blaine, gossipy snark in his voice and humour in his eyes. "I didn't tell you about Finn and Rachel's duet!" Without waiting for confirmation from Blaine, he launched into a detailed account of their wardrobe and performance. Blaine dropped the subject (for now, Kurt knew, but at least he'd bought himself some time) to become fully absorbed in Kurt's story. He gasped and bemoaned and criticised and laughed in all the right places, and when Kurt had drawn that out for as long as he could, he told Blaine in an equal amount of detail Rachel's music video for _Run, Joey, Run_ the previous year.

They spent the rest of the night discussing the New Directions' almost incestuous affairs, commiserating over Vocal Adrenaline's tyranny and discussing the most offensive songs in musical theatre.

* * *

"Great news, guys," Mr Schue announced as he walked into the choir room, saving Kurt from thinking of a response to Brittany (how does one dress up as a _peanut allergy_?) that would neither hurt her feelings or make Santana come after him with a shiv, "I've had a little inspiration: this week's lesson isn't really a lesson – it's a musical." He paused for dramatic effect. "_Rocky Horror_."

"Oh, my god, that's one of my favourite musicals," Kurt said excitedly to Brittany.

"I always get a Rocky Horror at Chuck-E-Cheese," she replied.

Rachel started speaking then, getting the attention of the whole room, once again saving Kurt from responding to Brittany. "Um, Mr Schue? While I admire your choice of the ground-breaking seventies musical, aren't you worried that the adult themes might be a point of controversy?"

It made Kurt uncomfortable to agree with Rachel, even after she stepped up to try and make him feel better last week, but what she said reminded him of an article he'd read online a few weeks ago. "There's a school in Texas that couldn't even do _RENT_. It caused an outrage and they had to cancel the show."

"Isn't that the whole point of the arts?" Mr Schue said. "Pushing boundaries? Doing things people say you can't do for the sake of self expression? Look, I've got it all figured out. I cut out some of the more risqué sections, and I'm sending home permission slips to all your parents to make sure they're okay with it, _and_ we're going to charge admission, and use the proceeds to help pay for transport to Nationals in New York." The room buzzed behind Kurt as he scanned through the permission slip and tried to think of a way to spin this to his dad. No way would Burt let him do this if he mentioned all the sexual deviancy.

The club started talking about casting. Rachel and Finn claimed Janet and Brad immediately, of course, and Artie could only be the Criminologist, but then Mr Schue suggested that Kurt play Frank-N-Furter and he had to put a stop to _that_ train of thought right away.

"No, there is no way I am playing a transvestite in high heels and fishnets and wearing lipstick."

"Why? 'Cause that look was last season?" Santana interrupted.

As Mike spoke up and the casting continued, Kurt pushed down his frustration at Santana _clearly missing the point_. Would he like to play Frank? Hell yeah. It was a lead role and he would sound and look fantastic. But _could_ he? No. He'd had a double slushy and almost had his fingers broken because the brutes at the top of the social food chain had heard he was singing with another guy. If they caught wind of what he'd have to wear as Frank, they'd probably reinstate his daily dumpster toss and roll him in a porta potty.

And then the conversation turned to Sam's abs, and the memory of Blaine's softly defined muscles after one of their swims was more than enough to distract Kurt from his upset.

* * *

That night, Kurt managed to distract Blaine again by telling about about _Rocky Horror_.

"Why is your principal allowing it?" Blaine asked, bemused.

"Mr Schue said he'd cut out some of the more risqué parts."

Blaine looked incredulous and just a little annoyed. "But that'll ruin what little integrity and plot _Rocky Horror_ has!"

Kurt couldn't help but giggle through his shrug.

"I honestly have no idea what's going through his head. We're struggling as it is to keep the glee club running and there are much safer musicals to perform."

Blaine shook his head, crossed his legs and then rested his elbows on his knees and his head in one of his hands to look at Kurt. "So who are you cast as?"

Mentioning superfluous details and going off on calculated tangents, Kurt told Blaine about everyone's assumptions that he'd be Frank-N-Furter and how Quinn had come over after school and they'd spent hours working on their costumes and hanging out like they were friends, not a cheerleader and the gay kid (which led to Kurt telling Blaine about how close they had been last year when her pregnancy knocked off the social ladder).

Neither of them felt the time passing, in the moving-yet-standing-still way it usually did, so when Kurt blinked and was back in his bedroom mid-sentence, he felt bizarrely disoriented. He forced himself out of bed and was surprised at the three tears which dropped in quick succession onto the journal pages.

He hated not getting the chance to say goodbye to Blaine, or at least give their conversation closure. And god knew how Blaine was feeling!

The last thought put Kurt in a terrible mood for the entire day. He fussed over Quinn's costume during glee, which made him feel a little better, but then he remembered that Blaine was probably worried, and then Karofsky dumped Kurt's Riffraff wig in a toilet and then pushed Kurt into it as well, probably giving his chest a lovely bruise and bending his wrist awkwardly. He gasped at the pain but managed to hold back the tears, at least until he was alone.

By the time he got home, his wrist was swollen and starting to bruise.

Fortunately, his dad was back to working full-time now, even though he was still doing more paperwork than anything else. This wasn't Kurt's first sprain – he was equally likely to get hurt being thrown in and then climbing out a dumpster – and it wasn't the worst either, and by the time his dad had arrived home Kurt had wrapped himself up and covered up the bandage with a pair of fingerless gloves.

"Are Carole and Finn coming over for dinner?" he asked as Burt hung up his jacket and took off his shoes.

"Just Carole tonight. I think she said somethin' about Finn going over his girlfriend's house for that musical you're doing."

"Oh, good! I found this burger recipe online – real meat, you'll be pleased to know, but it's heart-healthy and it'll taste amazing with that relish I've been dying to try."

"How about you leave that for next time Finn comes over, too?" Burt suggested. "Make some of your fancy French stuff tonight. Oh, but Carole's bringing dessert so you don't have to worry about that."

Kurt smiled at him, only a little indulgently. "Italian, Dad. I was thinking just a simple alfredo for tonight."

"So long as it tastes good, I'm not complaining."

* * *

Kurt was barely aware of his change of location before he was tackled to the ground. It took a few moments for him to get his breathe back, and then he registered babbling.

"—so worried, _god_, Kurt. What happened?"

Kurt brought up his arms – or as much as he could, since Blaine was wrapped around his chest – and patted Blaine's back comfortingly. Blaine pulled back, allowing Kurt to sit up, and then held his shoulders and looked intensely into his eyes. "Are you okay?" he asked.

Kurt nodded, bringing a hand up to hold one of Blaine's. "I'm fine," he answered. Blaine's body relaxed slightly and he breathed out a sigh of relief. "Are _you_ okay?"

Blaine smiled; it didn't reach his eyes. "I'm fine."

Kurt moved their hands off his shoulder to squeeze it. "What's wrong?"

Blaine shook his head and laughed shakily. "Nothing's wrong, I promise."

"Then what _was_ wrong?"

"You just . . . _disappeared_, Kurt. I didn't . . . I didn't know if you were gonna come back."

Kurt gasped. "Oh my god, I didn't even think of that!" Blaine shrugged. "Blaine, I promise that I will never, _ever_ leave you here on your own, okay? I will do whatever it takes to get back to you."

Blaine smiled – a real one this time, though small – and squeezed Kurt's hand. "Okay." He sat up properly and his smile widened as he asked, "So how's _Rocky Horror_ coming along?"

Kurt's chest loosened at the return of the shine in Blaine's eyes, and he couldn't help but smile back. "Well, our guidance counsellor's dentist boyfriend is Eddie, and now Mercedes is playing Frank! She and Tina went shopping today – Tina knows all the all the best places to buy leather and fishnets – to get her costume and apparently she's gonna look fierce. My girl's gonna steal the show," Kurt said proudly.

"Even more than the Creature's gold shorts?" Blaine teased. Kurt flushed lightly – he was still, even after four months, getting used to having another boy to talk about other boys with.

"Sam keeps coming up with these ridiculous puns about how awesome his abs are—" Blaine laughed. "—but I'll bet they're still not as good as Mercedes' voice. She's like the love child of Aretha Franklin and Beyoncé."

"She sounds amazing."

"She is."

They fell silent again, and Kurt realised they were still holding hands. Actually, Blaine was holding on quite tightly. Kurt's chest ached with all their potential.

"Come on," he said suddenly, getting to his feet without dropping Blaine's hand. Blaine scrambled to followed him immediately and with nothing more than a curious look. "We should walk around a bit. I have a feeling you haven't really moved all day."

Blaine looked abashed, and his cheeks pinked a little. Kurt resisted the urge to coo at him – that was just patronising; he smiled toothily instead. (He ignored the swoop in his stomach at Blaine's silent admission.)

"Who would you want to be in _Rocky_?"

"Honestly, I don't mind. Anyone who doesn't have to wear heels."

"But you'd be so much taller!"

"For all of three seconds before I fall on my face, yeah."

"How is walking in heels any different to walking along the back of a couch?"

"It's a different kind of balance!"

Kurt looked at Blaine out of the corner of his eye and gave him a sly smile.

"Have I told you about the week I wore ten-inch heels for a Glee assignment?"

Blaine looked torn between amused, awed and intrigued. "I can't say you have – please, tell me more!"

Sticking to the lighter parts of the week, Kurt filled Blaine in on the New Directions' foray into the theatricality of Lady Gaga and Kiss. He then delved into the Rachel/Shelby drama, which in turn led Kurt to filling in more of the romantic drama surrounding Rachel and Finn. (It was, after all, a saga too convoluted and lengthy to be told in one sitting, even a sitting as long as eight hours.)

"Are you sure your school isn't actually some kind of reality show?" Blaine asked, bemused.

"God, I hope not," Kurt groaned. "Because then I'd be Truman and it would be cruel to make me into the least popular kid in school."

"True." Blaine looked thoughtful. "Besides, it'd take more than a road block and a piddly lightning storm to keep you in Lima."

"Not even a giant dome could keep me from leaving."

"You never struck me as a _Simpsons_ fan."

Kurt smiled nostalgically, and a little sadly. "After my mom died, Dad and I sort of . . . stopped for a while. Our first Friday night dinner after, he tried to make chicken, like she did, but when he cut into it, the inside was completely raw. So we ordered Chinese and curled up in front of the TV, and The Simpsons was on. We couldn't help but laugh – although I didn't understand half the jokes then." He gave a self-conscious smile and half-shrug to Blaine, who was looking up at him softly. "It was never something we had with Mom; it kind of helped . . . settle into our, um, well, new normal, I guess." He laughed and finished lightly, "Although now, I just watch it because I like it."

"That's really nice."

Kurt sighed and shook his head. "I swear not everything about me has a profound origin story. For example, my love for _Sixteen and Pregnant_ is because trashy television is hilarious and subtly reminds my dad that it could always be worse."

"Are you sure it's not because of some deep-rooted desire for people to notice you for all the wrong reasons?"

"I'm afraid my life lacks the appropriate amount of scandal to keep the general audience interested."

"Maybe the Glee club in general then."

They walked for a while in easy silence, and then Blaine disentangled their hands to lean back against a tree. Kurt sat against a nearby trunk, so he was neither directly opposite nor directly next to Blaine, playfully kicking at the other boy's legs as he passed. He plucked up some longer blades of grass and started to plait them for something to do with his hands.

"So." Kurt looked up. Blaine was watching him closely. "If Sam went with Quinn, what did _you_ do for the duets competition?"

Kurt's fingers faltered for a moment, and then he answered, his tone dismissive in a way he knew Blaine would see straight through, "Oh, I did a duet with myself – _Le Jazz Hot_ from _Victor/Victoria_. The show is about embracing the masculine and the feminine, which makes this the perfect duet for me to sing by myself. Plus, my costume was unquestionably fabulous."

"I wouldn't expect anything less," Blaine said. Then he sighed and hung his head in his hands. "But you should have sung with Sam. I'm so, so sorry, Kurt."

"We've been through this already; it's not your fault. It's really for the best in the end, anyway. Everyone tends to pick singing partners who they're dating."

"I would've sung with you." Blaine peered through his eyelashes; Kurt's breath caught. "We sound so good together. I'd always sing with you."

"Everyone would assume we were dating," Kurt reminded him, shooting for scorn but landing amongst breathless.

Blaine shrugged. He looked composed but for the pink tint on his cheeks. "Honestly? If I knew you in the Real World? I would've asked you out by now." Kurt's face immediately burned, and his heartbeat rocketed. "Sorry," Blaine muttered, looking away, "that was probably . . ."

"It's fine," Kurt interrupted. He mentally winced at how high-pitched his voice had gone. "I, um, I would've accepted."

Blaine beamed at him, his eyes crinkled and shining. Kurt's pulse jumped erratically, and he couldn't stop the responding smile from spreading across his face.

That night, they parted with a tight hug, and Kurt dared to press a quick kiss to Blaine's heated cheek.


	6. second interlude

**second interlude**

"I wondered if I'd see you again."

Blaine startled and whipped his head round. Behind him was the boy from before, although now his pyjamas were cream with an emerald hem.

"Um, hi," Blaine said. He paused, stood up, and held out his hand with a genial smile. "My name's Blaine."

The boy looked surprised for a moment, and then he firmly grasped Blaine's hand and returned the smile. "Kurt."

That first night, Blaine asked Kurt a lot of questions, and the second, Blaine answered Kurt's. Three weeks passed in a similar manner; Blaine got used to feeling how time passed, sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly, but able to sense the difference; they filled the nights with chatter of Kurt's day and easy banter. During the time Kurt was awake, Blaine usually sang to stave off both his loneliness and the guilt that Kurt was confiding things in him without knowing he was actually a real person. Blaine talked often about his life, but Kurt probably just thought his subconscious was providing him with a like-minded individual, another gay teenage male to talk to.

"Kurt, I need to tell you something," Blaine said one day after the other boy had finished telling him about a particularly obnoxious customer at his dad's garage.

Kurt hummed. "Sounds serious."

"I'm, uh – all this—" He waved his hand at their surroundings. "It isn't a dream. Well, it kind of is, but I'm – I really exist."

Kurt raised an eyebrow.

"There was a car crash a while ago along Route 33—"

"I remember that. It was on the news," Kurt interjected. "My dad wouldn't let me drive out of Lima for two weeks."

"Was it bad? Did anyone die?"

"Shouldn't you know that? You were in it, after all." Kurt looked unimpressed and a little amused.

"I was a bit too busy panicking to pay attention, believe it or not. Now I'm in a coma."

For a moment, Kurt looked stricken, but by the way his expression relaxed Blaine knew Kurt still didn't believe him. Blaine didn't blame him.

"Do you remember this place when you wake up?"

"Mostly, I guess. Not as much as real memories, though."

"My full name is Blaine Anderson," Blaine said. "You already know I'm a Warbler from Dalton Academy in Westerville, Ohio. If you look me up on Facebook, my profile is completely private except for my profile pictures, and my current one is a photo of me stranding with three other guys in front of the Six Flags sign." Blaine looked at Kurt meaningfully, but Kurt looked back with thin lips and blotchy, reddened cheeks.

"This isn't funny any more."

"Alright," Blaine said gently. He leant back, widened his shoulders, stretched one leg out in front of him; opening and relaxing his posture as he changed the topic back to difficult customers, and Kurt eventually relaxed.

The next night, Kurt approached him with red-rimmed eyes. "Hi," he whispered.

"Hi," Blaine murmured back. He offered Kurt a reassuring smile, which Kurt struggled to return; he held out his hand, and Kurt gripped it back tightly.

Before he woke up, Kurt gave Blaine the tightest hug he'd had in years, and Blaine had to force himself to let go when he felt Kurt begin to disappear in his arms.


	7. chapter v

**Notes:** There have been quite a few questions about certain events of Never Been Kissed... well, now you get your answer. ;)

* * *

**chapter v**

Kurt had fallen into a habit of barely listening during Glee club. What was the point, after all? It wasn't like he was ever given a solo, even for the club's group numbers. And besides, they didn't listen to him, so it should only be fair he return the favour.

He usually passed the time by pretending he was with Blaine, either in the real world or the one in which they actually met, but in the few days since Blaine had confessed his wish to date him, Kurt's time in Glee club (and lunch and class and when he was doing homework and making dinner and hanging out with his dad and on the phone with his friends) had been overrun by daydreams of the very thing: they would sit next to each other in Glee, holding hands and sharing smiles and quick kisses which never failed to make his cheeks heat up; they would work on homework together with music playing in the background, which would lead to several singing breaks; they would get coffee every day before school, having stayed up all hours chatting on the phone; they would go to Breadstix and the park and spend entire days shopping and, on special occasions, the expensive French restaurant about an hour away.

Of course, Blaine would still go to Dalton, and even if he did go to public school it wouldn't be McKinley because he lived in Kenton, but since he was already fantasising, he may as well go the whole hog.

So when he heard Mr Schue one day announce the Warblers as their competition at Sectionals, he jolted suddenly out of his head and stared. Surely he'd just imagined that?

And then Santana said, "Okay, hold up, like, a million awesome gay jokes just popped into my head." So, no, not imagining it. And maybe Glee club wasn't quite the safe place he thought it to be.

After announcing their other competition – an old people's group, an easy win – Mr Schue split them up to do another battle of the sexes and stuck Kurt with the boys again. Didn't he remember how well this ridiculous competition turned out last time?

If Blaine had been in the room instead of in Kurt's head, he would have given a sympathetic smile and then made sure to include in the group discussion. Unfortunately, the actual boys in the room completely ignored Kurt in favour of trying to decide whether to sing an eighties power ballad or – surprise, surprise – an eighties power ballad; Artie's rap suggestions were quickly shut down.

Kurt left the room with his chin held high. He was Kurt Hummel, he looked his bullies in the eye and gave as good as he got – his teacher and club mates being morons was nothing. He would rise above this town's ignorance. One day, he would be on Broadway in musicals revolutionising the presentation of masculinity, femininity and queer characters. He'd pen it himself if he had to, though of course there was the musical about Pippa Middleton to finish first.

And when that happened, he would just look down at these small-minded peons with pity, because he was much too big a man to gloat.

He was snapped out of his thoughts in the same moment his chest and shoulder slammed into a locker. How ironic.

_Too big to gloat,_ he repeated to himself, until he realised Karofsky's step hadn't even faltered and anger burned hot in his chest.

"What is your problem?" he demanded. Karofsky stopped walking and turned around and, well, this was a first. Usually, Kurt was much too relieved to see the backs of his tormentors to consider drawing their attention back to him.

"You talking back to me? You want a piece of the Fury?" Karofsky loomed over him. His face was twisted up into an ugly grimace, and Kurt was half out of his mind with fear when he echoed, "The Fury?" He hoped he sounded half as scornful as he wanted to.

"That's what I named my first," Karofsky snarled.

"Well, with that level of creativity, you could easily become assistant manager of a rendering plant," Kurt retorted. God, he may as well just paint a literal bullseye on his back and hand out machine guns.

Karofsky threatened him again with the Fury (really, maybe Karofsky just needed to talk to Miss Pillsbury about his obvious anger management issues), and then slammed Kurt's back against the locker this time.

Broadway. Revolutionary musicals. Making more money than everyone in this cow town put together.

"Kurt." The boy opened his eyes and tipped his head off the lockers to look at Mr Schuester. "Can I talk to you in my office for a moment?"

Well, this was obviously going to go well.

* * *

Mr Schue altered the competition so that the boys had to do songs traditionally sung by women, and Kurt was _ecstatic_. Not only had the teacher listened to him for once (clearly, he was remembering how successful Britney had been up until someone pulled the fire alarm) but he was finally getting his chance to get a lead in a group number.

He said as much to the group of bored, uncivilised boys, complete with visual aids and a wooden pointer, but then Puck suggested his only use was going to spy on 'the Garglers'.

"The Warblers," he corrected irritably.

"Whatever," Puck dismissed. "See what they're up to. And you can wear all the feathers you'll want – you'll blend right in."

Kurt wondered if Puck didn't realise his casual homophobia, or if he just thought it was okay because he knew a gay guy.

"Fine," he said, unable to be bothered fighting back. He took his board off the easel and flounced out the room, on the fence about taking Puck's suggestion seriously. He was, in fact, sorely tempted to sneak into Dalton, and had been since Blaine had started talking about it. But the motivation had very little to do with show choir and a lot more with the bully-free, accepting group of boys who, for the most part, didn't treat homosexuality like it was as contagious as the common cold.

In the end, he didn't go. To see the place about which Blaine had told him so many stories – and to not see Blaine walk the halls himself – would hurt too much.

* * *

"Kurt. Kurt. Kurt, Kurt, Kurt, Kurrrrrrrt."

The boy in question bit his lip to stop from laughing, and he cracked an eye to look at his friend bouncing next to him.

"Oh, good, you're paying attention." Blaine grinned. "I was about to start poking you."

"You wouldn't dare," Kurt shot back, and then sat up with an exaggeratedly put-out sigh. "Yes, now that you've disturbed my rest?"

"Cannonball competition."

"I think I've had enough of competitions to last until Sectionals," Kurt grumbled, thinking back to when the boys had used their mash up to apologise for being their usual insensitive selves to Coach Bieste – and he still hadn't got a solo – so of course they'd lost.

"But this has nothing to do with singing." Blaine turned up the charm factor of his smile and Kurt relented.

And if he knew getting in the water meant Blaine took off his shirt, well, no one would know the wiser.

* * *

When Burt and Carole shared A Look between the main course and desert, Kurt knew something was up. He caught his dad's eye and raised an eyebrow, and Burt grinned at being caught. Then he cleared his throat and said, "Finn, stop eating for a sec and listen. We have something to discuss with you boys."

"Why do I have to stop eating to listen?" Finn asked.

"This is important, honey," Carole said, "we need your undivided attention." She waited for Finn to put down his cutlery, and Kurt noticed Burt watching him carefully. "We – Burt and I – have been thinking it's time to try moving in together again."

"What?" Finn blurted. Kurt opened his mouth to say something, but then he closed it again to swallow heavily. He had long forgiven Finn for his homophobic outburst the last time the Hudsons moved in but he hadn't forgotten it; he wasn't ready to share a room with Finn again. "But – we tried that already. And it didn't really go so well, Mom, are you sure?"

"We wouldn't be living in this house," Burt said. "With our combined salaries, we could afford a bigger place with three rooms."

"We're not asking you to make the decision now," Carole added, reaching out to place a comforting hand on Kurt's arm. She looked concerned. "We're just asking you to think about it."

Kurt swallowed and nodded, and then he excused himself to fetch the desert from the kitchen.

Later, after Carole and Finn had left and Kurt was getting ready for bed, Burt called out from the top of the basement steps.

"You can come down," Kurt said. His dad did so and then stood a little awkwardly in the middle of the room. Kurt met his eyes in the mirror and smiled a little. "I suppose you've come to talk about the whole moving situation."

Burt chuckled. "You got me." He crossed the room to sit in Kurt's chair as Kurt put down his cleanser and swivelled round on his stool. "I just wanted to make sure you're okay with it. Last time, I think we were too hasty, too excited and caught up to realise how it would affect you boys.

"I know I'm gonna ask Carole to marry me, one day," he said. He had a little grin on his face, the same one he wore in his and Kurt's mom's wedding photos, and Kurt's heart simultaneously constricted and expanded. "I know it, she knows it. And that's part of the reason we want a new place. This house is mine and your mom's house, just like Carole's is her's and Christopher's."

"I get it," Kurt said, his smile small and wistful. "You don't want memories of Mom getting mixed up with memories of Carole."

"I loved your mom, Kurt," Burt said. "I always will, you know that, right?" Kurt nodded. "But I love Carole too, and it's not fair to her to have the pressure of Elizabeth's ghost. It's not really about me at all.

"But we both want you boys to be comfortable. If we move, we want to do it right this time." Burt got up and walked over to Kurt to squeeze his shoulder. "Take as long as you need to think about it, okay?"

Kurt nodded. "'Night, Dad."

"Sleep well, Kurt," Burt said, squeezing Kurt's shoulder again before going upstairs. Kurt looked after him for a moment, and then span back around to finish his moisturising routine.

He'd known for months now that Burt and Carole would get married sooner or later – as he'd said to Finn once, people their parents' ages didn't waste time messing around, they knew what they wanted and they went for it. Admittedly, the words had been a manipulation to convince Finn that they may as well get to know each other, but that didn't make the words any less true.

It was just that hearing his dad say the same thing made Kurt feel both extremely happy and extremely sad. He loved Carole, of course he did – she was wonderful, caring, didn't put up with people's bullshit, and took on board every piece of Kurt's advice about style and fashion – so he wanted both her and his dad to be happy, and being happy meant being with each other. At the same time, it pained Kurt to think that Burt was letting another piece of his mom go. It didn't feel like a betrayal, exactly; ten years was a long time, and though the Hummel men had done their mourning, they would always feel a small dull ache where Elizabeth had been.

Kurt already knew he would agree to the move. Neither Hudson nor Hummel house was big enough for both families, it would be unfair for the married couple to live in separate houses (Kurt fully believed that Burt and Carole would be wed by summer), and even if they put it off, in less than two years Kurt and Finn would be moving out to college anyway.

He wanted nothing more than he wanted his dad to be happy. If this was what it took, well, it wasn't a huge hardship, no matter how hard it would be to leave the house he grew up in behind.

It took him longer than usual to get to sleep that night, although not so long that Blaine noticed the difference. That, at least, wouldn't add to Kurt's thoughts. They went for a walk, picking a direction where the forest wasn't so dense. The grass prickled along the bottom of Kurt's feet, half tickling them and half making them itch.

"Hey," Blaine said suddenly. He grasped Kurt's elbow to make them stop and look at each other and then slowly rubbed his hand up Kurt's arm. "What are you thinking about so hard?"

"Carole and Dad are thinking about moving in together again, into a new house."

"Ah." Blaine looked at him carefully. "How are you feeling?"

Kurt couldn't help a short laugh. He took Blaine's hand and then tugged him back into a walk. "Are you my therapist or my friend?"

Blaine chuckled. "Why can't I be both?"

"No offence, Blaine, but your advice . . . well, it doesn't work."

Blaine pouted. "All my other friends like my advice."

"Your other friends are . . ."

Kurt's retort died on his lips as the trees suddenly gave way to a castle. It appeared without warning, rising so high above the tree tops that it should have been impossible for them to have never seen it before. The large double doors were mere metres away, only held together by the wrought iron hinges and decorating pattern. The stone blocks making up the walls were worn, their edges crumbling but not enough to be able to see through.

"Well, that's new," Blaine said deadpan. Kurt made an incredulous noise.

"Really?" he said rhetorically, his voice rising several octaves, bordering along hysteria. "You mean you've never seen a castle just spring out the ground before?"

"Kurt, breathe. This isn't the real world, remember? For all we know, the castle has always been here but the physics of this place prevented us from seeing it before."

Kurt shook his head. "There's nothing different between the physics of here and there. Even if we are on some . . . metaphysical plane or whatever, it feels exactly the same as Earth."

Blaine nodded absent-mindedly, looking up at the castle with a contemplative expression on his face. Kurt narrowed his eyes at the shorter boy, and even as he started, "Maybe we should—" Kurt interrupted with a very emphatic, "_Hell to the no_! We are not going in there, Blaine, have you lost your mind?!"

"But Kurt—"

"Blaine!"

"Why not? We're the only people here, and it looks abandoned."

"What if it falls on top of us?"

"We'll avoid any sections that look like they're going to collapse." Kurt bit his lip, looking worriedly up at the castle. "Come on, Kurt," Blaine wheedled. "What harm can it do?"

Kurt stared at him, aghast. "Blaine! Why would you say that?!"

Blaine looked a bit concerned himself, but quickly shook it off and smiled easily up at Kurt. "This is real life, not a horror film."

"This?" Kurt waved his spare hand around. "This is not real life. We're living in a fantasy novel. People die in fantasy novels! You've read _Lord of the Rings_!" Kurt's eyes narrowed. "Wait, would that make me Sam?"

"Wow, real original, Kurt," Blaine said dryly. "Come on, let's go in before you start on my eyebrows too."

"I would never make fun of your eyebrows." Kurt smirked and fell into step beside Blaine. Only his grip on Blaine's hand and the tightness of his shoulders belied his fear. "They're very . . . distinguished."

The doors were heavy and stiff, and it took both boys pushing all their weight to move one far enough to squeeze through. Inside, there were no cobwebs, and the only dust was clearly from the stone. The paint on the walls was faded, and the murals had large, randomly-spaced gaps where the stone had completely worn away. The floor was littered with debris, small stones which pressed painfully into Kurt's bare feet. Worn bolts on the walls were the only signs that there had once been other decoration. The torch racks were empty, and the windows allowed through only just enough light.

Kurt and Blaine didn't pick their banter back up; the atmosphere was too cold, the air too still. Kurt swallowed heavily and looked at Blaine. The other boy set his jaw and nodded, and their grips were equally tight as they slowly and silently made their way deeper into the castle, by mutual agreement not going near the stairs.

The first room they came across was large and empty, with a high ceiling and big windows halfway up the outer wall.

"The dining hall, maybe." Blaine spoke quietly so he wouldn't make an echo, but Kurt still heard him clearly. Kurt signalled a small, half-open door across the room, reluctant to say anything out loud and disturb the stillness. Blaine nodded and, after a moment's hesitation, the two set across the room.

Kurt really needed to learn how to say 'no' to Blaine.

The door creaked when Kurt pushed it open. Kurt looked at Blaine with wide eyes, and they barely even breathed as they waited for the echo to fade and the stifling silence to return.

"I hate you so much right now," Kurt eventually breathed. Blaine nodded in agreement.

"Do you want to go back?"

Clearly, the cat would not be the only one to die of curiosity.

Through the door was a kitchen. It was empty, but there were counters and equipment which Kurt mostly recognised – a giant stove, a cauldron, a furnace, an empty fire pit with blunt spikes at either end. Something about the room unsettled Kurt more than the entrance and dining rooms, and it took a few moments to figure out what it was: everything was too clean. The only dust was bordering the walls, and both the furnace and fire pit were completely free of burns marks.

"It looks like that door goes outside," Blaine said with an indicative nod. They quickly crossed the room and forced open the door, and to their relief, they were back in the open air. It wasn't perfect – they appeared to be in a large quad, and although there were cobbled paths between some of the buildings, they didn't seem to lead out of the castle. Above them, reaching between the some of the buildings, were elevated, uncovered walkways. A couple crossed over the courtyard, and a few more had crumbled. But the silence wasn't as oppressive, and the tension in Kurt's chest lightened.

Kurt breathed a sigh of relief. Next to him, Blaine's shoulders relaxed as well. Neither of them loosened their grips.

"This is the worst idea I've ever had," Blaine said. "And that actually includes going to the Sadie Hawkins dance."

"We are never leaving the Lake again," Kurt said. "I don't care how boring the view gets, at least I've never felt like I'm going to have a heart attack there."

Eventually, their hearts slowed down, and they took the opportunity while they were calm to unwind their fingers and wipe their palms.

They looked at each other again. Blaine sighed and was the first one to glance back around the courtyard.

"Which way next?"


	8. chapter vi

**chapter vi**

They managed to explore a few more rooms in one of the other buildings before they realised the time. All they'd found was the same: a little dust from eroded blocks, and absolutely no signs of life. Somehow, it just made Kurt even more nervous for Blaine while he was alone. What if Kurt came back but Blaine was gone?

They went back outside to wait for Kurt to wake up, and didn't look away from each other until Kurt opened his eyes in his own bed with his stomach twisted in knots.

Kurt was distracted all day, not that anyone noticed. While eating breakfast with his dad, he managed to play off his worry as tiredness from a bad night's sleep (not that was strictly untrue – the castle had been more intimidating than any of Kurt's bullies) – and he assured Burt that it wasn't because of the moving-in proposal, because he'd already decided it was a good idea. He avoided his friends as much as possible, and when he did see them at lunch time conversation revolved around Sectionals. He barely even noticed when slurs fell out of his locker or Karofsky pushed him into the corner of a wall and it caught his shoulder.

"Hey, man, can I talk to you for a sec?"

Kurt blinked back into full consciousness and realised with horror that he had been chewing on his lip. Why hadn't anyone stopped him? Then he shook himself and paid attention to Finn. "Yes?"

"What do you think about our parents living together?"

"It wouldn't just be our parents, Finn."

"Yeah, that's kinda the problem, isn't it? Our parents almost broke up last time . . ."

Kurt could not deal with this right now. He drew a steadying breath, turned to face Finn with his whole body, and then spoke: "Firstly, the circumstances are very different from last time. This wasn't sprung on either of us. We're all older. You and I would have separate rooms. My feelings towards you are now strictly fraternal. Brotherly," he clarified when he saw Finn's confused frown. "Secondly, I think it's a good idea. Dad and I talked yesterday and I wouldn't be surprised if he's bought an engagement ring already – though he really should have told me first and then I could have helped him find something perfect." He shook his head. "Them living together is inevitable, Finn. All that matters is whether they wait for us to leave home, or if we build a new home as a new family."

Finn was no longer frowning by now; he actually looked rather thrown off-kilter, a little desperately left behind.

"They're gonna get married?"

"Eventually," Kurt answered gently. He wondered if Carole even talked to Finn about her relationship, or if Finn was just bad at listening. "Quite soon, I think." He gave the taller boy a smile and patted his arm, and then the two entered the choir room.

"Oh, there you are, Finn!" Rachel exclaimed, dragging her boyfriend over to their seats. Kurt huffed a laugh and then made his way to his own seat at the back of the room. Tina was, as usual, making out with Mike while they still had the chance, and Mercedes was talking to Artie. So, with no one to force his attention, Kurt slipped right back into worrying about Blaine. Was he still safe? Had he gone back into the castle to explore on his own? What if there had been something there, but it was waiting for one of them to be alone before it attacked?

He tuned in just in time to hear Santana tell Rachel that she and Finn had had sex last year and raised an eyebrow. Really, Rachel hadn't known? Kurt had thought it was public knowledge. Then again, he supposed it was only in the last few weeks that Rachel had started to try to honestly make friends and that was with himself.

Mr Schue called Mike and Brittany to the front to work on choreography and Kurt's other eyebrow rose to join the first. What exactly had he missed? Was Mr Schue actually learning from his mistakes – and more than that, preparing for something more than a week in advance?

Kurt pushed down his worry about Blaine, though it remained present enough that he only half paid attention during Glee. He picked up that Mr Schue had given Sam and Quinn a duet and Santana the solo – apparently, he wanted to show off the group's talent; never mind that he was still sticking to the same tired formula with slightly different numbers; never mind that he was still ignoring three quarters of the talent, half of whom hadn't ever been given even a line. He followed the choreography and, although he wasn't as good as he usually was, at least he was still miles ahead of Finn.

He didn't need to pretend to be paying much attention when his dad came home because Burt was distracted too. He kept flicking between channels and flipping the remote between his hands, and it was only after he'd gone upstairs for the seventh time that Kurt threatened him with salad for dinner and leftover salad for breakfast for the next three weeks if he didn't stay still because he was still recovering from his heart attack.

He cited his exhaustion from last night as his reason to go to bed early. He was genuinely tired, the worry draining, but even so he couldn't get to sleep for hours.

At the immediate sight of Blaine, moved from inches in front of Kurt to a couple of metres away and leaning against a wall with his head tilted back, Kurt's entire body let out a sigh of relief and he relaxed. Blaine was okay. He was safe. Somewhat tense from being alone in this unknown, empty, eerie place for several hours, but safe nonetheless, and nothing bad had happened to him.

Tonight, they followed one of the pathways between the main building they'd come through and one that was particularly crumbling. It led them to what probably used to be a garden. There was a deep hole in the ground which was likely once a pond. On an artificial island directly in the middle was a two-tiered pagoda constructed of rotting wood, and it was linked to the rest of the garden with three bridges, only one of which was still standing, but it didn't look safe to cross anyway. The grass, like everywhere else in the Dream World, was green, evenly spread and uniform in length. There were rows of turned soil along the borders which probably once held flowers or vegetables. Blaine knelt down by one of the beds and shifted it with his fingers.

"What are you doing?" Kurt asked. It was easier – so much easier – to talk outside.

"Looking to see if this has been tended to recently," Blaine replied. "It hasn't, by the way."

"Oh, thank god."

Neither of them said that that didn't mean they weren't alone.

* * *

Kurt was unsurprised when Burt and Carole ambushed him between first and second period, dragged him to Finn and told their sons they were engaged. He was still ecstatic, of course – it was actually happening! his dad would get to be truly happy again! and Kurt was the one who was getting to plan it!

He never thought he would be glad to not have a competition solo. They wanted the wedding as soon as possible. Even though Kurt had wedding magazines under his bed and several generations of wedding scrapbooks throughout his life, it would still be tough to get everything planned and booked and confirmed while teaching the New Directions the set list and arrangements for the wedding and simultaneously learning an intensive dance routine for Sectionals. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise that his considerable talent and spectacular voice had been looked over once again.

Kurt bounced through the day. Every moment he could get away with it, he was chattering someone's ear off: Rachel or Mercedes or Finn about songs, Mercedes or Tina about the suits and dresses. As they walked out of Glee after school, he even managed to talk to Quinn (and an accompanying Sam – Kurt wondered when exactly that had happened) about catering. He credited the fact that he was barely alone all day for the severe drop in bullying. He was slushied twice, 'tripped over' once, and a couple of brutes had knocked into him in classrooms, but there hadn't been a sign of Karofsky all day.

All in all, it was a very good day.

The good day, unfortunately, did not continue into a good week, although it didn't turn into a bad one. While the New Directions were totally on the ball about the wedding songs, any time Sectionals was even hinted at, the room instantly descended into chaos. The third time it happened (another backhanded comment by Rachel), Kurt stood up and ripped every participant in the fight a new one, channelling his anger about the bullying and his fear of the castle and his frustration that he still couldn't find a way to get Blaine awake and shouting at them for daring to have the audacity to potentially compromise his dad and Carole's happiness. Santana and Puck had looked impressed. The following Monday, Lauren Zizes walked through the choir room door, punched Kurt on the shoulder and said bad asses should stick together.

Although somehow getting Lauren Zizes in his corner had buoyed his confidence, by the end of the day it had sunk so low that Kurt stared at his wedding planning for over an hour without doing anything. Karofsky seemed to not only be making up for the low-level bullying of last week but he'd returned with a vengeance, as if punishing Kurt for daring to be so happy.

It really didn't help that while he slept, instead of lying around with Blaine by their calm, peaceful Lake, they were exploring a creepy, cavernous, only-probably-abandoned castle.

"Are you sure you don't want some help with the planning?" his dad asked him over dinner three days before the wedding. "Carole and I have both been married before, you know, I think we could handle taking part in the second one."

"Absolutely not," Kurt replied. "You put me in charge and that means your wedding will be perfect."

"No live animals," Burt said, meeting Kurt's gaze across the table. Kurt blinked at him innocently.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

"Look, kid, Carole and I, we don't need anything extravagant or fancy – you keep that for your own wedding, okay? I could marry her in a sty and still be the happiest man alive." Kurt gaped at him, horrified. Burt chuckled. "My point is, you don't need to do so much. Me and her, you boys, our loved ones, good food, and some damn good music – that's all we need."

"Everything's booked by now anyway," Kurt pointed out. He left out all the favours and bribing and blackmailing he'd done to get it all organised. His dad would probably ground him for months if he found out. "All that's left is the outfits."

"Are you sure I can't just get married in the suit I've already got?"

Kurt pointed his fork emphatically at Burt. "That suit is cursed. Every time you wear it, something important breaks or gets set on fire. We'll go shopping tomorrow after your and Finn's dance seminar."

Burt rolled his eyes in amusement.

* * *

That night, Kurt opened his eyes in the pagoda and was momentarily disoriented. He blinked a few times to try and figure out what was off: the shadows. They were longer and darker, and when Kurt looked around he realised that the lighting was closer to late afternoon or early evening than midday.

He got up, looked over the fence at Blaine and asked, "Is it just me or is it getting darker?"

Blaine looked around, and then his eyebrows rose. "Huh. That's . . . huh."

"It's unnerving is what it is," Kurt said, "and I don't like it."

They stayed on the pagoda that night. They barely even talked, huddling close together with their backs pressed against one of the columns. When Kurt felt himself start to wake up, Blaine kissed the back of his hands in assurance and then forced his muscles to relax. Kurt knew he'd have tensed up again as soon as Kurt had disappeared, and he felt sick at the thought of having to leave Blaine alone in there.

He was shocked out of his thoughts on his way to first period when he was dumped with four slushies. As he wiped off his eyes, one of them grabbed his arm and threw him hard into a locker. Karofsky, of course.

Kurt supported himself against the locker, trembling with suppressed tears, until long after the bell rang and the halls had emptied.

* * *

Kurt appeared on Blaine's lap and immediately turned bright red and scrambled off. "Sorry, sorry!"

"No, my fault – sorry—" Blaine was red-cheeked and wide-eyed in his own embarrassment. "I moved around a bit – I was getting stiff – and I couldn't remember where we were, exactly, so I – guessed, and, well—"

They fell silent at the same time and stared at each other, and then burst into too-loud, slightly hysterical laughter, which started all over again any time one of them so much as made a noise.

"Oh, I needed that," Kurt sighed, nudging Blaine's side lightly.

"Wedding planning stress?"

Kurt shook his head. "Karofsky, mostly." The bully had slushied him again just before he'd met his dad and of course Burt had noticed both Kurt's wet hair and change of clothes. Kurt had managed to deflect him and put the focus back on the dance seminar. In fact, it had been really fun once Burt stopped looking at him like he was going to break at any second.

Then Karofsky had knocked into his shoulder as they passed each other in the corridor, making Kurt stumble, and next thing Kurt knew he and Finn were telling the complete extent of the bullying, and then the Hummels and Karofskys were in Principal Sylvester's office trying to figure out what to do. The answer amounted to nothing, because why would they punish one kid for absolutely terrifying another?

Blaine looked at him, sad and empathetic and understanding, and put an arm around Kurt's shoulders in half a hug.

Kurt breathed deeply once, expelling some of the weight on his chest, and then glanced around them. It was even darker tonight.

"Let's get out of here," he said quietly. "I want to be back at the Lake before it gets much darker."

"Good idea."

The castle seemed to echo more in the dark, and even Kurt's shallow, barely audible breaths seemed to grow louder as they passed through the kitchen into the dining hall. It was almost black inside the building now, the windows too high and thin and few to let the light properly in. His heart thudded in his ears and he held onto Blaine's hand so tightly he was probably cutting off the other boy's circulation, but he didn't feel very guilty because Blaine was retuning the favour.

Kurt would have been so relieved to finally be leaving the castle behind if they hadn't squeeze through the doors, turn to the forest and find the trees gnarled and leafless and flaking. Some had fallen over, or their branches had dropped the ground and the stump looked dry and brittle. Kurt heard a small noise, and when Blaine held his hand even tighter he realised he'd let out a whimper.

"Come – come on," Blaine said in a low voice. "Let's go."

When Kurt woke up, his hands hurt as if they were just regaining feeling, and his feet had phantom blisters.

* * *

The wedding came at just the right time, but Kurt wasn't able to enjoy himself or think about much beside how scared he was for Blaine. Kurt could escape to the Real World; Blaine was trapped there.

Kurt didn't appreciate the irony.

The ceremony and reception passed in flashes of attention. The vows, the only part of the entire celebration Kurt had nothing to do with (and not for lack of trying), were perfect, and both Burt and Carole mentioned the four of them as a new family. Finn's best man speech where he promised to look out for Kurt no matter what. Being applauded after his solo for _When You Say Nothing At All_, Alison Krauss' version, of course. Dancing with his dad. Sending his dad and Carole off to their hotel so they could have a night together as a married couple (Kurt wouldn't think too hard on the details) before both families began their moves to the new house. (They had decided to hold off on the honeymoon until after Thanksgiving, since it was only a few weeks away now.)

When he finally got home, it was late, and Kurt rushed through his routine and went to bed as quickly as he could. As usual, he and Blaine latched onto each other the instant they were within reach, and then Kurt distracted them both from their ever-darkening, ever-dying surroundings with retelling his day.

With the wedding out of the way, they had a week of Glee rehearsals to fine tune their set list of Sectionals. With Rachel's outrage and Mercedes and Tina's backhanded comments at not being featured, and Rachel speaking to neither Finn nor Santana, it went about as well as one would expect. Or maybe it wasn't actually as bad as Kurt thought, but he was so distracted worrying about Blaine that he didn't notice, and quite honestly he barely even cared.

Over the past week, Blaine had started to look tired, and he spent more time resting his weight against Kurt's body than participating in conversation. With all the other changes in the Dream World, Kurt had spent more than one hour pushing down the terrifying thought that Blaine's body was dying.

"Mmm'urt," Blaine mumbled lethargically into Kurt's shoulder. "How many days t' Sectionals?"

"Just two now."

"C'n you do me a favour?"

Kurt's arm tightened around Blaine's shoulders, and he forced himself to relax and resume his hopefully soothing strokes.

"Of course."

"Fin' out how all m'friends are doin'? Haven't heard 'em in s'long . . ."

"That was never a question," Kurt assured, hoping that if Blaine was . . . he would at least be able to know his friends were okay. Tears welled up in Kurt's eyes, blurring his vision entirely, so he breathed slowly and steadily and fixed his gaze on their favourite god damn rock and pushed them back down. "I'll break into their green room if I have to."

Blaine made a noise that was probably supposed to be a laugh. "You're th' best, Kurt," he said warmly. He tilted his head back and opened his eyes and smiled, and Kurt quickly wrapped him in a proper hug so that Blaine wouldn't be able to see his tears.

"Right back at you."

* * *

Kurt woke up on the Saturday of Sectionals already crying: he hadn't dreamt of the dream world at all.

* * *

**END OF BOOK ONE**

* * *

**End notes:** Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed and favourited so far! It means the absolute world to me that so many of you are enjoying this story. There'll be a week's wait between Books so Book Two will recommence on Monday 15 July (and there'll be a week between the end of Book Two and the beginning of Book Three as well). Again, thank you so much, and I hope you all continue to enjoy (or tolerate, haha) the rest of the series.


	9. BOOK TWO chapter vii

**Notes:** This has felt like a really long week, especially with the events of the last few days. I will be continuing my posting schedule as usual but please, if you're not feeling up to reading, don't, and please all look after yourselves. Rest in peace, Cory.

The locker room scene is taken basically verbatim from 'Never Been Kissed' (script credit: Brad Falchuk, I used the transcript on glee-transcripts Tumblr by Millie/yaaaycheers) because I'm actually that lazy and, well, there's no point fixing what ain't broken. (With a bit of an addition.)

**Warnings** for the Karofsky assault kiss and semi-graphic vomiting near the end. Also, ESPECIALLY IN LIGHT OF RECENT EVENTS, there is a lot of talk of death in this and the following chapters.

* * *

**BOOK TWO**  
**AN EMPTY LAND**

**chapter vii**

By the time Kurt's dad came down to his bedroom to make sure he was awake, Kurt had got a hold of himself. He'd forced himself to press pause on showing his grief – he could mourn Blaine later, when he wouldn't get disturbed and then have to come up with some excuse because he'd never been able to tell anyone about the best friend he'd ever had. He took a long shower and stretched out the rest of his morning vanity routine. When he smiled and talked to his dad, he could play off his excess emotion as just nerves, and pretend there wasn't a gaping hole in his mind where Blaine ought to be.

Kurt was nothing if not a consummate performer, and hiding his true feelings was something he'd had lots of practice at.

He hardly seemed to notice anything going on around him. What little breakfast he could stomach tasted like ash. His dad and Carole's support buzzed dully in the background, and his response to his dad's "good luck, boys" was automatic and not anywhere near as emphatic as it ought to have been. Even the chaos of the green room as they were waiting for the competition to begin was an indistinct buzz in his ears, and it took Mercedes almost pushing him off his chair for him to look at her.

"You okay?" she asked with a frown. Kurt wondered what she'd say if she knew, if she'd tell him that Blaine was in a better place now. Anger flared in his chest. Blaine wasn't in any place now – the real world, wherever they were while Kurt slept, and certainly not Heaven.

"Fine," he said, trying not to grit his teeth. "I just can't believe these are our costumes." It was such a petty thing to be concerned about, even if Kurt had gone on a long rant about how awful the outfits were. That had been the other night. The last time he'd seen Blaine. "I need the bathroom," he said in a rush, pushing himself out of his seat and not stopping until he was alone.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't keep his composure, he couldn't get up on stage and sing about howbeing a loser was awesome, he couldn't pretend everything was okay when it _wasn't_ because _his best friend had just died_.

"Hey, are you okay?"

Kurt looked up, and he saw a boy with blonde hair wearing a heartbreakingly familiar blazer. He was a little older but Kurt had spent hours looking at Blaine's Facebook profile picture.

"Do you know Blaine Anderson?" tumbled out of his mouth before he even realised what he was saying. The boy looked taken aback, and a little sad. Kurt wanted to be angry again – this boy was in Blaine's _profile picture_, they were obviously close, shouldn't he look more upset?

"Uh, yeah, he's – one of my friends. How do you know him? You're in the New Directions, aren't you?"

"We—" Kurt cleared his throat, took a deep breath, stood taller. Blaine was really real, and he was having a conversation about him. He was talking to someone who actually knew Blaine. "We knew each other. Fell out of touch. I just heard he was—" _dead, dead, dead, dead_.

"Oh, man, I'm so sorry. This probably won't help any but the Warblers are dedicating our performance to him today. Did you know he was in the Warblers?" Kurt nodded, his lips pressed together. "It was Wes' idea. We're gonna ask for donations for Coma Care." The guy gave a resigned shrug and a sad smile. "He figured, Blaine gets a lot of love and his parents aren't exactly strapped for cash, and there's still a chance he'll wake up even though he's on life support, but not all coma patients and families . . ."

But Kurt had stopped listening. Hope trickled from his heart, slowly bleeding through his veins and fighting off his grief like white blood cells.

"Life – life support?" he echoed.

"His body crashed yesterday. They managed to revive him but . . ."

Kurt threw his arms around the Warbler, unable to stop himself from sobbing into his blazer or whispering a string of gratitude. The hope burst into a supernova in his chest, exploding to the furthest parts of his body, even filling his toes and fingers, and blasting away the weight of his despair. Blaine was still alive – he was _still alive!_ – and that meant Kurt would find a way to get back to him, and this time he would bring Blaine away from the dream world with him.

The bell rang, and suddenly backstage was swarming. Kurt pulled away and roughly wiped at his eyes.

"That's our cue. You should go wash your face – I'd hate to win just 'cause you looked a mess."

The guy grinned as Kurt swatted his arm.

"The Warblers don't stand a chance."

"We'll see. Anyway, I really do have to go before Wes kills me. Break a leg out there."

"You too. And – thank you."

* * *

The New Directions won Sectionals. After squeezing the life out of Mercedes, Kurt looked across the stage to the Warblers. He and the boy he was talking to earlier exchanged smiles, but before Kurt could even think about going over and asking for his name, he was whisked away to the New Directions' green room and was forced to sit through a congratulations-but-don't-get-cocky speech by Mr Schue.

"How you feeling now?" Mercedes asked once they'd got back to the bus. Kurt grinned at her – the wide, toothy grin he absolutely hated because it made him look twelve years old and was a massive crack in his armour. Mercedes' eyebrows rose at it, which wasn't a surprise because Kurt almost never smiled like this in the real world.

"Much, much better," he answered. "We won! We're going to Regionals!"

Mercedes laughed. "You got that right, baby! And then we're through to New York!"

"I wonder if we can get Mr Schue to allow us a day or two to look around after the competition," Rachel mused, popping up beside Kurt from nowhere. Kurt jumped out of reflex, and was mildly disappointed when Rachel's words registered and he felt nothing but excitement at them.

"If only," he sighed.

"At the very least, he should chaperone a visit to Broadway. How much do you think rush tickets are?"

"For a group this big? Way too much," Mercedes said. "Plus, there's no way the boys are gonna sit through a musical. Except for you, Kurt."

"Finn still thinks _Funny Girl_ is about a comedienne who gets seduced by a war veteran," Kurt said, exchanging sympathetic grimaces with Rachel. Hers was a little sad around the edges, but she definitely didn't seem as cut up at the mention of Finn as Kurt thought she would be.

Burt and Carole were waiting with Rachel's dads and some of the other parents who'd gone to the competition in the parking lot when they got back to school. Rachel disappeared instantly and Kurt and Mercedes had to eventually be dragged apart so the Hummel-Hudson family could get to Breadstix for their celebration before the dinner rush.

"Boys, you were fantastic," Carole gushed. Kurt grinned at her and started rambling about their preparation and the performance itself, even mentioning the nameless Warbler from before the show who helped Kurt kick his nerves (at least, that was the story he told them).

"Aren't all the dudes in that school, like, gay?" Finn asked.

"I wouldn't know," Kurt answered coolly, although of course he did know that Blaine was the only gay guy in his immediate group of friends. "We only talked about the performance." He shoved some lasagne into his mouth to pre-emptively shut himself up.

The conversation turned to their competition and Regionals for the rest of the course, and while they were waiting for their desert, Burt said, "Speaking of good news, we've got some for you, too."

"Oh, god, you're pregnant," Finn said, looking horrified. Kurt almost choked on his drink.

"No, no baby," Carole said hastily. "It's unlikely we'll have another child but if we do it won't be for a while yet. Don't worry, okay, honey?"

Finn nodded, relieved, and Kurt couldn't deny that his own dread felt a bit lighter.

"So what's the good news?" Kurt asked.

"We got the house!" Burt and Carole grinned and Finn whooped. "The realtor called us this morning and said the sellers accepted our offer, so we can start movin' in on Tuesday."

* * *

The elation of Blaine being alive coasted Kurt through the weekend, and when he woke up after a dreamless sleep on Sunday he was filled with a renewed vigour to get back to Blaine. He printed off one of Blaine's old Facebook profile pictures and slipped it inside the cover of Marion Cotillard's _Vogue_ issue, and then he spent the rest of the morning researching everything he could think of. Spending several hours reading about hokey New Age practices ended up being a colossal waste of time, but, since this was for Blaine, he could look at it as: at least he'd ruled out one possibility.

There were god knows how many other possibilities, but Kurt would worry about those later.

But it was as if Karofsky could sense Kurt's new resolve and determination, and he began tormenting Kurt at a totally new level. Kurt was barely halfway across the parking lot before he was being tripped over. He took a moment to collect himself – his anger, his frustration, his tears, he didn't even know – and when he looked up, he just met Karofsky's singular, hateful gaze without flinching. Karofsky stamped on his bag, tearing one of the strap seams in half, and then walked away.

Over the next week alone, Kurt was pushed into countless lockers, usually with a snarl or a jeer; he endured eight slushies; mutiple kicks to his legs and the back of his chair; spit balls in class like they were in middle school. It wasn't just Karofsky, though it was clear that every bully, jock or not, was taking their cue from him. Unsurprisingly, no one noticed; not Rachel, who had offered to duet with him after the competition; not Mr Schue, who had seemed to completely given up on Kurt after one failed attempt; not his dad, who had so much to worry about already, organising the move and his honeymoon; not any of his friends or clubmates or teachers who claimed to care about him.

The only person who had without fail always noticed was on life support and blocked from him. Late at night, that threatened to depress him, but he always caught himself before any tears could even well up in his eyes and used that emotion to bolster himself.

Kurt threw himself into research and helping Burt pack up their house. They went through the communal rooms together, and it was nice, even if they didn't talk much. It was nice, if painful, to stumble across an item long since forgotten and discover a memory.

"What are we gonna do with Mom's stuff?" Kurt asked once they'd made their way into the attic, where most of Elizabeth's belongings had gone after the funeral.

"Most of it's gonna be sold or pawned, I think."

Kurt stared at him. "What?"

"The house ain't that big, Kurt, and it ain't fair for me to keep a bunch of Lizzie's stuff. Carole's selling a bunch of her and Christopher's things."

Kurt clenched his jaw, hating himself for hating how much that made sense. "Fine. I get it. I get it!" he repeated at his day's raised eyebrow. "I do, Dad, I just . . . didn't think, I guess."

Burt got up off his knees, dusted his hands on his jeans, and then knelt back down next to Kurt. "Listen, we don't have to get rid of everything – anything you want to keep, if it won't fit in the new house, we'll store it and you can take it with you when you get your own place."

"Thanks, Dad."

Burt grunted in reply, and then the two men went back to work, only breaking the silence to share another uncovered memory.

* * *

It felt like merely a blink before the week was over, and yet Kurt was exhausted as if he'd barely slept for a month. He spent the weekend Googling random spirituality terms and moving between his and the Hudson's homes to make sure all packing was on course. Finn, predictably, had barely done a thing. On Sunday night, Kurt stayed up until two am brainstorming blackmail and/or bribery methods, and he entered school on Monday with the single-minded purpose to find Finn and implement them.

All his plans were derailed when, halfway through a set of doors, Karofsky pushed him, making Kurt stumble and catch the front of his shoulder on the hinge.

He walked off with a smirk. The shell around Kurt's frustration and helplessness shattered, and Kurt was running after the bully.

They ended up in the boys' locker room.

"What is your _problem_?" Kurt shouted, putting every ounce of feeling into his glare as possible.

"Girls' locker room is next door," Karofsky said. He didn't even look away from his locker.

"What are you so afraid of?"

"'Sides you sneaking in here to peek at my junk?"

A bitter laugh bubbled in Kurt's chest but evaporated with the heat of his anger. "Oh, yeah, every straight guy's nightmare, that all us _gays_ are secretly out to molest or convert you. Well, guess what, ham hock? You're not my type."

That certainly got Karofsky's attention. "That so?"

"Yeah. I don't like chubby boys who sweat too much and are gonna be bald by the time they're thirty."

Karofsky slammed his locker shut and stepped right into Kurt's personal space, raising a fist theateningly. "Do not push me, Hummel."

Kurt eyed the fist – 'the Fury', what a joke. It was so close it prickled at the hair's on his cheeks. "You gonna hit me? Do it."

"Don't push me!"

Kurt only stuck his chin up higher. "Hit me, 'cause it's never gonna change who I am. You can't punch the gay out of me any more than I can punch the ignoramus out of you!"

"Get out of my face!" Karofsky screamed. The stench of burger and onions wafted over Kurt's nose and it took everything he had not to start gagging.

"You are nothing but a scared little boy who can't handle how extraordinarily ordinary you are!"

Kurt would never have imagined himself ever seeking Karofsky out to confront him. It wasn't bravery that had him standing up for himself in the hallways – it was his own pride and pig-headedness, and his hands shook every single time. Of course, many a time he'd daydreamed about it, of calling Karofsky out and a teacher noticing, or saying just the right thing to get Karofsky to back off, but he'd never thought it would actually happen.

And never, in any of his fantasies or imaginary confrontations, would he have had the slightest thought that it would end this way: with Karofsky's rough hands crushing his skull; with Karofsky's lips pressing so hard that Kurt's own caught on his teeth and made him bleed; with burger-and-onion breath invading his mouth and his throat; with Karosky's eyelids the only thing in his field of vision as his first kiss with a boy was stolen by the person who made his life most miserable.

When Karofsky pulled away, there was a seemingly interminable moment where they just stared at each other in horror, until Kurt finally stuttered out, "You—"

He didn't know what he was going to say, but it snapped the bully out of his daze. Karofsky's face twisted in a snarl, his hands moved from Kurt's jaw to his neck, and the taller boy smashed him back into the locker.

"If you tell anyone about this," he whispered, "I'll kill you."

Kurt didn't move – _couldn't_ move – and then Karofsky was gone, leaving Kurt alone in the locker room, one hand clutching his torso, the other trembling violently around his aching lips. And then without being aware of the change of location, he was suddenly retching into a toilet bowl, his throat burning as partly digested foodstuffs became bile.

It was the only time Kurt allowed himself to cry in school.

The bell rang, and Kurt realised he'd missed two whole periods. Still on shaking legs, he went to the nurse's office and claimed he had food poisoning, so his dad came to take him home.

Kurt didn't go to bed. He lay on the couch and flipped on the TV, determined to stay awake because he had no idea what he would see if he fell asleep, but going by what he saw behind his eyelids every time he even blinked, it wouldn't be good.

He wished he'd kissed Blaine all those weeks ago, before Sectionals and the castle and they knew anything was wrong. He wished he could close his eyes and greet Blaine's smiling face, lounging by the Lake somewhere only they knew. He wished he could pick up his phone and hear Blaine's voice and laugh and call him over to be held in his arms, just like he had after Burt's heart attack.

He wished everything were different, but it wasn't, so Kurt stared blankly at the television and let his dad believe that he was simply sick.


	10. chapter viii

**Notes:** I am so sorry this is a day late – I totally blanked that publishing fic is I thing I'm doing at the moment and didn't remember until I was half asleep. Unless I forget again, though, the schedule will remain the same, and I'll mention on Tumblr is I'm going to be late again. :) Also, sorry this chapter's so short; most chapters in Book Two are about this length, but I'm sure it's obvious why. I hope you're all still faring well and dealing with your grief as you need to.

**Chapter warnings:** More throwing up; a kinda graphic description of someone fainting; mentions of eating disorders, disordered eating and the events of the previous chapter.

* * *

**chapter viii**

Kurt jerked awake and threw himself to the bathroom. He made it just in time to reach the toilet. There was no vomit – he had barely eaten over the past two days so all that was left in his stomach was bile. Afterwards, he brushed his teeth and gargled three mouthfuls of water, and then he hurried back to his room to avoid looking at his reflection. He knew how he looked, dark rings under puffy eyes and a couple of spots threatening his hairline. If he looked too closely, he could see Blaine haunting his eyes; if he looked for too long, he couldn't help but imagine bruises on his cheeks shaped like fingertips.

Not even his dreams were an escape anymore: nightmares filled the absence of Blaine and their mysterious world. Each nightmare was different but they were never without Blaine – Blaine asking why Kurt had abandoned him and broken his promise, Blaine just out of reach, Blaine but on the other side of a glass wall and Kurt can only watch his scream, Blaine lying in a hospital bed and unable to wake up – or Karofsky – closing in on Kurt, kissing him, not physically there but Kurt could feel him touching everywhere in the darkness—

But the worst were the ones with both of them.

In his latest nightmare, he'd been walking through the forest. Blaine had been just ahead of him – Kurt could see him through the trees occasionally. He would shout out but Blaine never turned around. Then the scene had changed to the locker room and Kurt had turned the corner to find Karofsky on top of Blaine, meaty hands around the smaller boy's throat. Blaine had looked at Kurt, furious and devastated, and accused him of never caring in the first place.

That was when Kurt had woken up. He was still tired now, exhausted from worry and fear, but the thought of going back to bed made his stomach churn again. It was only four in the morning – far too early to go for a run, especially if he was going to keep his dad unworried – but he needed to move around so he quietly continued packing up his room. The families were moving into the new house tomorrow and most of his wardrobe was still out.

He worked thoughtlessly until his alarm went off, packing all but his most shapeless jeans and undecorated shirts. It almost seemed ridiculous to care about his appearance – of the only two people who ever looked at him, one had only ever seen him in pyjamas anyway and the other he never wanted looking in the first place – but he needed to at least to keep up appearances. The Kurt Hummel of two weeks ago would look fabulous even with a limited wardrobe. This Kurt Hummel needed to pretend he was still jubilant over winning Sectionals and his parents marrying and moving into a new house.

Breakfast was quiet. His dad asked if he was excited about moving. Kurt confirmed they were able to use the truck from the garage. They both looked melancholically at the boxes and bare walls surrounding them.

Then Finn crashed through the house, stuffed at least six waffles in his mouth, and then ran to his car so he couldn't be late picking his girlfriend up for school.

* * *

Kurt avoided being alone in the corridors as much as possible. It was a lot harder than last year – there was a lot of distance between himself and his friends now, partly purposeful, partly just because they've all got relationship drama to focus on and not enough left over for himself, and also he just had fewer classes with the other Gleeks.

Still, he could usually find someone, and he had very quickly figured out the fastest ways to get to class. It meant he carried around most of his books all day but that was a small price to pay to avoid Karofsky. He used the extra time sitting in class to mentally create floor plans and jot down potential new routes of research. 'Astral plane' was the best he had, but that didn't explain the _why_ of anything.

Luckily, the final bell rang and Kurt made it to his car without seeing Karofsky once, although it wasn't until he'd closed his front door behind him that the heavy feeling of someone watching went away. He wasn't exactly comfortable in his home anymore – everything was in boxes, waiting for Burt to arrive with one of the trucks from the garage so Finn, Puck and Sam could help the Hummel-Hudsons move the last of their belongings.

A part of Kurt resented his friends for their help, for the exact same reason he had been so grateful when they'd first offered: the heavy lifting. Burt was still restricted from extreme manual labour – or at least doing a lot of lifting in one day, and he'd already had a shift every day that week – so it would have been up to Finn and Kurt to rearrange furniture and carry boxes. He ended up mostly bossing the other boys about and only carrying the boxes with his clothes and fragile items.

He ended up being merely tired and not exhausted, and dreamt of Karofsky slowly strangling him while Blaine screamed in the background.

The weekend provided some relief to Kurt. He all but kicked Finn out of the house to have some 'bro time' with the other Glocks so he had basically full reign over the physical work, and the mindless orders and organising helped distract him. The house was almost entirely settled by Sunday evening, in part because of Kurt's dictatorship during the day, in part because he had little else to do when he inevitably gave up sleep in the early hours of the morning.

But then Monday arrived again.

"Honey, are you alright?" Carole asked. "You look a little queasy."

"Nothing to worry about, just a bit of a stomach ache," Kurt said. "I took a couple of painkillers upstairs. I'll be fine by Glee club."

Carole pulled a sympathetic face and Kurt gave her the smile she was looking for. At least it got him out of having to choke down the rest of his breakfast.

He wasn't fine by Glee club, of course. Actually, he was feeling so much worse, his stomach protesting against every movement, although he barely noticed over the dizziness and a headache which pounded against the backs of his eyes.

Kurt shook his head and bile burned at the back of his throat.

"Now, I believe Finn and Kurt have prepared a song for us," Mr Schue was saying. Probably. Honestly, he sounded very far away; Kurt felt like he had cotton wool stuffed in his ears.

"We do," Finn said. "Basically, we want to thank you guys for everything you've done over the past few weeks – what with the wedding just before Sectionals, and then decorating the new house and helping us move in. Right, Kurt?"

_Right,_ Kurt thought, although his mouth was too full of cotton wool too for him to talk.

He tried to stand up. He heard white noise – or was it someone screaming?

And then there was nothing.

* * *

When Kurt woke up, Mr Schue immediately took him to the nurse's office, for which he was glad because everyone panicking at him just made him want to faint again. The nurse gave him a granola bar and a cup of water and asked him for his name, his birthday, what his dad's name was. "Do you still feel like fainting?" she asked.

Kurt considered saying he was fine but that seemed like literally the dumbest thing he could do at that moment. He'd just _fainted_.

"No, but I still feel dizzy and a bit nauseous," he grudgingly admitted.

"How long have you been feeling like this?"

"A couple days."

"Have you been eating?"

Kurt hesitated. "Not really."

"Have you been throwing up?"

"Yes, but I'm not _making_ myself throw up."

Neither the nurse nor Mr Schue looked convinced.

"Can I just go home?" Kurt asked tiredly.

"I'll need to call one of your parents," the nurse said. "You shouldn't be alone in case you faint again."

Kurt's lips thinned. "Fine."

While the nurse went to call the garage, Mr Schue sat next to Kurt on the bed.

"Kurt," he said, gently lying a hand on Kurt's shoulder, "I know I things have been tough for you lately, but there's never a good reason—"

"I don't have an eating disorder, Mr Schue!" Kurt interrupted. "I promise. I've just not been feeling well lately."

"Still, I think you should make an appointment with Mrs Pillsbury-Howell tomorrow."

Kurt thought some very unkind words about Mr Schue just then. "Fine."

The nurse came through the curtain. "Your dad'll be here in ten minutes. You can wait either here – I'll need to talk to him when he arrives. Keep eating!"

The granola bar wasn't actually too bad. It tasted kind of bland, except for the bursts of fruit, and it didn't make him want to run to the nearest sink. Maybe he could convince his dad to stock up on crackers on the way home.

_Speak of the devil,_ Kurt thought, hunching his shoulders as his dad appeared at the nurse's door. Burt immediately pulled Kurt into a hug, holding him a little too tightly for comfort. Well, Kurt's comfort; it probably wasn't tight enough for Burt's. After the nurse briefly filled Burt in on how to get Kurt to recover ("Keep his blood sugar up – lots of water, granola bars, soda, anything like that. If he doesn't feel better within a couple of hours – tomorrow morning at the very latest – or he throws anything back up in the next couple of days, take him to a hospital immediately."), Burt picked up Kurt's bag and they drove home in silence.

"Nurse said you've been feeling like this a while now."

Kurt avoided his dad's eye and didn't say anything.

"This have anything to do with why you were sneaking around all hours the past few days?" At Kurt's surprised look, Burt snorted. "Kid, one thing you've gotta know about parents is that we're light sleepers, especially when we're worried about our children."

Tears unexpectedly and without warning began spilling down Kurt's cheeks. "I'm sorry, Dad . . ."

"No, no need to say sorry. Just . . . talk to me, Kurt."

Just with as little warning and control as his tears, words spilled from Kurt's mouth – not the whole story, not a single thing about Blaine or Karofsky's kiss, but the locker slams and slushies and taunts and the _death threat_ . . .

By the time Kurt was finished, both men were crying, and Burt pulled Kurt close again and this time they clung to each other. For the first time since Sectionals, Kurt felt that everything would turn out okay, wrapped up safe in his father's arms.

And indeed, the next day, when school had barely begun, his tormentor was expelled without question, and Kurt allowed himself just a few moments to bask.

* * *

**End notes:** I know I don't usually put these in multi-chapter fics, especially when it doesn't give any information, but I just want to draw your attention to the relationship between Burt and Kurt. Because it is a damn good relationship, and Burt is the best father in the world, and I love it and love them just so so much.


	11. third interlude

**Notes:** I wasn't going to add anything to this chapter but HUGE THANK YOU to pinefir on AO3 for making a fanmix for Book One! I am so so unbelievably thrilled and I've been freaking out to my best friend and my sister about it. If you want to listen to it (and you SHOULD, because it's SO RUTTING WONDERFUL), the link is on my profile.

* * *

**third interlude**

Blaine hurt.

That hadn't happened in a while, actual, physical pain. It lingered in his joints, his muscles, his tendons and ligaments. It lingered so that even his bones ached.

Was Kurt okay? He had been fine the last time Blaine saw him (which had been . . . it had been . . . how long?), energy and strength as impressive and wonderful as usual, even as he comforted and cuddled with Blaine himself who had been lethargic and weak.

He was still like that now. Lethargic. Weak. _Pathetic._

_Blaine Anderson, you're pathetic. Can't even wake up from a coma._

No.

_So pathetic. Kurt's too good for you. That's why he left._

Kurt hadn't wanted to leave. Kurt would be back. Kurt had promised him, and when they'd been parted before he'd looked so scared. And there was mutual attraction, wasn't there? Blaine hadn't had a lot of practice at flirting and he'd never been anyone's boyfriend and he'd never even gone on a date but they'd talked about it, hadn't they? What they would be if they were in the real world?

_Maybe he was just humouring you._

No, no, no. No, Kurt wasn't like that. Kurt was the most compassionate person Blaine had ever met. He liked Blaine. He was going to come back for Blaine. He was going to get Blaine out of here.

_Wherever here was._

Were his eyes open or closed? It seemed to make no difference. All darkness was the same.

_You can't escape from the darkness. Just give in, Blaine Anderson. Stop fighting and give in to the dark._

Except Kurt was coming for him. Blaine just had to wait because soon - one day very soon - Kurt would come back and find Blaine and take him away back to the real world, and then they could be together for real.

How long had he been here already? Had it been hours, days, weeks, months? Kurt wasn't indomitable, and he had his dad's remarriage and moving and Glee and bullying to worry about - how long would it take for him to give up?

_How long will it take for him to forget?_

Kurt wouldn't forget. Kurt kept a journal, and he'd said Blaine was his best friend. The best best friend he'd ever had. No one could just forget that.

A noise. Or was Blaine just imagining things, finally going mad in the isolation of who-knew-how-long in the absence of light?

No, it was real. Sometimes Blaine realised he was hearing himself cry. Sometimes he might have just been breathing. Sometimes he thought he could hear his heartbeat.

"Kurt?" he breathed out, and his entire being felt heavier from the effort. There was no response. Blaine forced his eyes open. Or did he? There was still only the complete absence of light.

_Give in to the dark, Blaine Anderson._

Blaine missed the sun.

_Give in to me._


	12. chapter ix

**Notes:** I have never been to boarding school and I've never talked to anyone who has. Any representation is entirely made up with a bit of influence from various things I've read on the internet and books and films set in boarding schools (in other words, _Harry Potter_, _St. Trinian's_, _Wild Child_ and a couple of Enid Blyton books). Basically, it's not accurate at all.

* * *

**chapter ix**

When Kurt entered the choir room, everyone fell silent and stared at him. He fought back a flush and managed not to fumble his step.

At least, until Mercedes asked, "Kurt, why didn't you tell us about Karofsky?" He stopped where he was – just in front of the bottom row of seats, closer to the band than where Rachel and Finn were sitting in the centre of the row – and stared at her blankly.

"You could've confided in us, Kurt," Tina piped up. "We care about you, we would've listened."

"Yeah, dude, you're our friend."

"Man, I can't believe he actually _threatened_ you—"

"I can't believe you didn't tell us—"

"Why didn't you say anything—"

"What a load of—"

"Seriously?" Kurt exclaimed, and they all thankfully stopped talking again. "It's not like none of you knew he was bullying me!"

"Kurt, we're all bullied," Rachel said, "you can't expect us to be able to differentiate between what's normal and what's, well, rather extreme."

_Rather extreme_, huh? God, Rachel was lucky she was Finn's girlfriend again.

"He threatened to kill me," Kurt said flatly, feeling some vindictive pleasure when he saw everyone wince. They'd ruined his the-Wicked-Witch-is-expelled high with their self-importance, after all, they deserved to feel a little guilt in the face of the harsh truth. "And before that, he'd been targeting me specifically for weeks. Maybe instead of asking me why I didn't tell you, you should ask yourselves why you didn't notice."

"That's not fair, Kurt," Mercedes said quietly. The ache of missing Blaine flared up and caught Kurt's breath, and all he could do was bite out, "Sorry," and then hurried to his seat before his legs collapsed under him.

Blaine had noticed. Blaine had never even _seen_ Karofsky, he had never seen Kurt being bullied or assaulted, and yet he was the only person in Kurt's life to notice that something was wrong. (Okay, Kurt's dad had noticed, but the man had for some reason never said anything so he unfortunately only half counted.) Yet all his friends, all his comrades in choir and fellow underdogs, were blind to what had been happening right in front of them – it had taken Kurt getting slammed into a locker for Mr Schue to even pay attention to him, for all the teacher did.

Kurt's joy lay in his chest like a deflated balloon for the rest of the week, except for when Kurt unpacked his clothes because god, he had missed caring about his wardrobe. He extended an olive branch to Mercedes, inviting her over to help him sort through his clothes for eBay-ready items and then a shopping spree in Columbus on the weekend.

"I thought being an atheist meant not believing in any sort of afterlife," she said out of the blue.

"It is."

"Then are you not an atheist any more?" Kurt gave her his most judgemental side eye.

"I am as much an atheist as I was two months ago."

"Then what the hell's with all this occult stuff? And is this . . . New Age? I thought you hated this stuff."

Kurt darted over to where Mercedes was looking through one of his boxes (which was very much _not_ labelled with CLOTHES – FRAGILE, the nosy woman) and snatched the scrapbook from her hands. His heart thumped heavily, and he mentally cursed himself for just leaving his research book lying around where everyone would find it.

"Boy, you've been acting seriously weird lately."

"Yes, well, that tends to happen when one almost loses their only living parent and then is worried about their own life."

"_So_ not what I meant. You've been kinda not quite there and distracted for months now, and you've had that weird look on your face like when you were crushing on Finn." Kurt flinched and hoped Mercedes thought that it was just at the reminder of last year's humiliation. Besides, what he felt for Blaine was infinitely more real than his infatuation with Finn. "And now you're, what, creating scrapbooks about souls and other planes and other devil stuff?"

Kurt meant to respond but he got a bit stuck on 'devil'. _Could demonic powers be responsible for all this?_ he thought, and then had to stop himself from laughing at how ridiculous this all would have sounded seven months ago.

Mercedes snapping her fingers in front of Kurt's face brought him back to the present.

"You just did it again."

Kurt shrugged. "What do you expect me to say?"

"How about whatever the hell has been going on in that fashionable head of yours?"

Yeah, and then she'd have him committed.

"I still think New Age stuff is a load of garbage but I think the whole scent thing is pretty interesting. As for being distracted . . ." He shrugged again. "Melancholy over the end of the summer?"

Mercedes hummed, looking unconvinced, but she didn't have that determined truth-seeking glint in her eyes so Kurt was safe from further investigation.

"If you weren't spending just as much time with me as before, I'd reckon you had a hot beau you're keeping from me."

Kurt turned around, in pretence to put his scrapbook away, in reality to hide his probably very telling expression from his best friend, and forced a sarcastic laugh. "Don't be ridiculous, Mercedes. As if I'd keep something like a boyfriend a secret. No, I'll have to get out this town before I find someone fabulous enough." One day – one day soon – he would be able to tell her about Blaine. There was no other option he would accept. "Besides, you know I'd tell you the second it became official.

"Yeah, you'd better."

* * *

Kurt was putting up the last of his shelf decorations when his dad knocked on his door.

"Hey, bud. Everything alright up here?"

"You mean now I've figured out how to store all my clothes in a regular closet?"

"Yeah." Burt's lips quirked up, in that way Kurt recognised as his 'I don't know what my kid is on about but I'll humour him anyway'. "What about school?"

Kurt smiled, teeth and all. There were still a few slurs and tossed balls of paper and notes shoved in his locker but most of the bullying was gone, at least for now. Kurt had had a worry that their ringleader being expelled would have incensed his other tormentors into physical assault; instead, it seemed to have made him almost entirely untouchable. "School's school. The jocks have backed off but the lessons are as dull as ever."

"Huh." Burt's frown caught Kurt's attention, and he turned around to face his dad fully.

"Why? Is something wrong?"

"I just got off the phone with your principal. She said she needed us both – and Carole, if she can – to come in before school tomorrow. Any ideas?"

Kurt shrugged helplessly. "I've got nothing. Sorry, Dad."

"It's probably nothing anyway. Just be ready to go early tomorrow, alright?"

Kurt groaned, but, "Sure."

He put the upcoming meeting out of his mind for the rest of the evening. It wasn't difficult, because he had to figure out the best placements for his photographs and ornaments and somewhere to hide his scrapbook, journal and print-out of one of Blaine's old Facebook profile pictures. But after he'd turned out his light and pulled up his covers, it became all he could think about. Principal Sylvester hadn't given a reason for tomorrow's meeting, but it could only be to do with Karofsky, and Kurt ended up only managing to doze restlessly through the night.

The next morning, Kurt forced down a plate of scrambled egg whites while Burt and Carole chatted idly. He appreciated their attempts at normality but he could see their nervousness in how tightly they held their own cutlery. Finn came down as the three readied themselves to leave and started shovelling the remaining eggs into his mouth, and Kurt had to quickly look away before the sight really made him throw up. He extracted a promise from Finn to drive Kurt's car safely and then joined their parents in his dad's truck.

In hindsight, he should have expected Principal Sylvester to say that the school board was overturning Karofsky's expulsion and the bully was returning tomorrow. This kind of disappointment was par for the course of Kurt's entire life. Carole and Burt exploded on either side of him, and Principal Sylvester looked just as unhappy.

"This psycho threatens my kid's life, and some school board made up of a bunch of people I've never met tells me there's nothing they can do about it?" Burt demands.

"Oh, they could do something about it – they just decided not to," Principal Sylvester replied. "No one reported witnessing him being violent, and there's no way to prove that he threatened you with violence. The school board president issued a verbal warning to Karofsky, and that's where we stand."

Karofsky was getting off with barely more than a slap on the wrist and a footnote on his permanent record. Kurt's stomach churned, and he gripped his elbows tightly to stop his hands from shaking. "I can't go back to being terrified all the time," he said, shaking his head. "I jump every time a locker slams shut; I flinch whenever I turn the corner . . . I don't feel safe at this school."

"Kids who bully, for the most part, have been bullied themselves, and I for one don't flatter myself that that behaviour can change. Now this kid Karofsky isn't gonna all of a sudden be nice to you, and I won't stand by unable to do anything about it. Effective noon tomorrow, Figgins is back in charge, as I've tendered my resignation as principal in protest." Kurt's eyes snapped to meet his old cheerleading coach's, and he felt something settle in his chest by the determination he saw. He was surprised by her support. But perhaps she was just paying him back for him winning the school's sixth consecutive Nationals cheerleading trophy. "I can't help you behind this desk, but I can be an extra pair of eyes out in those hallways. Someone ought to have your back.

"Besides, I miss my office. This room smells weird. I can't shake the feeling that I'm inhaling a lot of dead skin."

Kurt's lips jerked upwards in an involuntary smile; the woman's offensive nature was, somehow, strangely comforting right now.

"Thank you for everything you've done," Carole said. Principal Sylvester nodded, and Kurt willed his legs not to collapse as he stood and followed his father and stepmother out of the office. It helped that Carole was gently resting her hand on Kurt's shoulder, and she squeezed it before letting go when Kurt stepped away.

"Well, I guess I'll try to enjoy the rest of the day before the terror starts anew," Kurt said, trying to smile to soften the truth. "I'll see you at home."

He turned and started walking off to join his friends in the choir room, but then Burt called out, "Hey, Kurt, wait up a second. There's something we want to talk to you about."

"What is it?"

"That school you were up against for Sectionals, Dalton?" Kurt nodded. "You said it had a zero-tolerance policy, right?"

"Right . . ."

"We looked into it before the last meeting. We can afford it, especially if we delay our honeymoon a bit."

"Which is something we would gladly give up for you, honey," Carole interjected, resting her hand on Kurt's arm. "Besides it's not like we've never been on honeymoons before."

Burt nodded in agreement. "And I've spoken to the headmistress about transferring, and she said there are a couple of spaces available in the dorms, and you can be a student by Wednesday."

Kurt's head span. They were really willing to do this for him? He was so lucky to have such great parents. And not just that, but Blaine had said that the anti-bullying policy was strictly enforced – he wouldn't have to worry about being taunted by his peers ever again.

"Dorms?" Kurt asked.

"It's a bit far and expensive to commute every day, though of course you can if you want to." Carole said.

"I . . ." Kurt looked between the two adults, who looked back at him with warmth and encouragement, and he felt like everything really would be okay. "Yeah," he said through the block in his throat. He breathed out a thank you and wrapped them both in a tight hug. They held him back just as tightly and he let a few tears of relief fall onto their shoulders.

"We'll let the principal know, and then home, alright?" Burt said.

Kurt swallowed heavily. "I should . . . I should let my friends know. The Glee club. We have Glee now." He pressed his lips together for a moment to gather himself. He didn't know how they would react, but it probably wouldn't be good. At least he wouldn't have to worry about leaving them in the lurch; Regionals was months away and with Lauren in the group, the New Directions still met the minimum number without Kurt. "I think it'd be easier to tell them all at once."

"You sure, kid?" Kurt nodded.

"I'll talk to Principal Sylvester," Carole said with a sympathetic smile. "You two go tell Kurt's friends and I'll meet you both in the car."

The two Hummel men made their way to the choir room in silence. As they got close enough to hear the clamour from the choir room, Kurt grew more tense, and Burt laid a supportive hand on his shoulder.

"Do you want me to wait out here?" he asked. Kurt nodded.

"Please. I'll be out in a moment." He gave his dad a shaky smile, drew a deep breath and entered the choir room.

"Kurt, there you are! Everything okay?" Mr Schue said.

"Can I make an announcement?"

Mr Schue nodded and grabbed a stool. Kurt stood in front of the room, feeling strangely calm, and waited for everyone to stop talking.

"I want to thank everyone for all the support you've given me over the past few weeks," he said, "not just with the more recent incidents, but with my dad's wedding too. It's nice to know I have great friends here. Which is why it's so hard for me to leave."

"What do you mean 'leave'?" Quinn asked.

"I'm transferring to Dalton . . . immediately. My parents are using the money they saved up for their honeymoon to pay for the tuition and board."

"Kurt, you can't leave," Tina said, as Finn straightened up and demanded, "What the hell, dude? How about you talk with me about this first?"

"I'm sorry, Finn, but there's nothing to talk about. Karofsky's coming back tomorrow, so that means I won't be."

"We can protect you," Sam said, which made Kurt want to smile. He'd mostly stopped talking to the bleached blonde boy since his arrival to the Glee club but he wished he hadn't.

"Seriously," Puck agreed, which caught Kurt by surprise, "we can, like, form a perimeter around you like the Secret Service."

"Yeah," Finn added.

"The only thing that can really protect me is what they have at Dalton: a zero tolerance, no-bullying policy. It's enforced."

"Kurt . . ." Mercedes said, coming up to join Kurt at the front. She looks more confused than anything else, and Kurt's heart aches.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, trying to convey how much he means it. And then he turned around and hurried from the room before they noticed the tears in his eyes. He kept his distance from Burt and Carole until they got back home, and then he let his dad pull him into a strong, comforting hug. He didn't cry, but he buried his face into his dad's familiar flannel and scent, closed his eyes, and breathed.

* * *

It took two days to finalise Kurt's transfer; Burt took the time off work to get it done faster and stop Kurt from falling even farther behind. They drove up to Dalton to meet with the headmistress, sign some paperwork and pick up Kurt's uniform, and on Wednesday morning, Burt helped Kurt pack up his car. Kurt hadn't spoken to his friends or even Finn over the last two days – they texted him, but they asked why and made promises which Kurt knew would be broken before long, and so he didn't reply.

"Call me when you get there, alright?"

"I will, Dad."

"Just worry about yourself, okay, honey? I'll keep the old man in line."

Kurt laughed and kissed his stepmother affectionately on the cheek. "Make sure he's in bed by nine and there's a list of numbers on the fridge in case of emergency."

"You got it." Carole winked, while Burt huffed and good-naturedly grumbled, "The lip I get in my own home."

"Oh, behave," Carole said, tapping him across the arm. Kurt laughed again, a little wetly this time.

"I'll miss you guys."

"We'll miss you, too." And now his parents' eyes looked watery too. Kurt wrapped his arms tightly around their necks and squeezed his eyes closed. He could barely breathe with how tightly they hugged him back.

"I'll call you before I start unpacking," he promised. And then he was off.

* * *

Kurt pulled into an empty space in the student parking lot and stared up at his dorm building. It was three floors – bottom floor for recreation, top two floors for bedrooms, Kurt remembered from his tour – and relatively unimposing. In fact, the building looked, anticlimactically average for such a huge change in Kurt's life, and unfairly small when Kurt thought about how he didn't know anyone here. Not really. Not when his only friend at Dalton was in a coma, and completely cut off from him, and he wouldn't be able to act familiar with Blaine's friends.

He closed his eyes and knocked his head back against his headrest. God, how he missed Blaine. Especially right now, when he needed a friend on his side. If Blaine were here – or even if Kurt could still get into the dream world, Blaine would smile at him and hug him and give him some crappy advice, and Kurt would tease him for reading too many fortune cookies, and then they'd both laugh and Kurt would feel a million times lighter.

He really, really missed Blaine.

After brushing his cheeks free of tears (but when had they fallen?), Kurt went into the building to find the head of the house (who also worked as a secretary in the main school), to whom he had been introduced yesterday, and together they moved Kurt's suitcases to his room. Mrs Shelley was a wonderfully warm woman, her eyes kind even though her silvering hair was pulled back into a tight bun. She reminded Kurt of the dorm rules (snacks, lights out, when homework time and leisure time were, the anti-bullying policy, when friends could visit, when significant others could visit, sanctions and rewards, tidying up) and who his dorm mates were, adding that he'd be introduced to everyone when extracurriculars had ended. Because Kurt was a junior, he was sharing a room on the second floor with only two other people.

"Is there a limit to how long I can use the bathroom?" Kurt asked.

"Well, considering there are only seven in the whole building, you should be as in-and-out as you can," Mrs Shelley said with a grin. She laughed when Kurt pursed his lips.

"Alright," he agreed reluctantly. He hoped his roommates wouldn't make fun of him for doing his moisturising every night. And that they weren't secretly homophobic. Sure, he could apply for a room transfer, but he didn't think he could deal with that on top of everything else at the moment – and besides, both Blaine and Headmistress Farhi had boasted Dalton's practically non-existent state of bullying, and Kurt would only be able to bitch out one of them.

"I'll leave you to unpack now," Mrs Shelley said once she'd given Kurt another quick tour. "Feel free to come down and grab the TV before the other boys come back, if you want." Kurt nodded and thanked her, and then he was alone. He rang the garage as he look at his roommates' parts of the room. One of them had a bunch of pictures – of, presumably, himself, his friends, his family, and possibly his girlfriend – and of the posters there was a soccer player, a guide to guitar chords, the Hogwarts coat of arms, and a couple of low-in-plot, high-in-explosions movies. In conclusion, not obnoxiously straight, but not promisingly accepting either.

"Hummel Tires and Lube."

"Hi, Dad," Kurt said.

"Hey, Kurt! Was the drive alright?"

"Yeah, it was fine. Boring, and long, but fine. I came off the highway to have lunch at one point."

"Have you met any of the other students yet?"

Kurt smiled at the Hogwarts poster. "No, it's a school day, remember? No one's supposed to be back for another couple of hours."

Burt chuckled. "Alright, alright. But everything's okay?"

Kurt missed Blaine like there was a hole in his chest, and he missed his dad more than he thought he ever could, and he missed talking to his friends. But already, he felt the weight of the terror brought on by Karofsky lifting from his shoulders. "Yeah. Everything's okay."

"I'll let you get on with unpacking, then. Call me when you get the chance later, yeah?"

"As soon as I can," Kurt promised. "I love you."

"Love you, too. And Kurt – I'm real proud of you, okay?"

Tears sprang once again to Kurt's eyes. "Okay," he answered quietly. "'Bye."

"See you soon, kid. I'll let Carole know you called."

The next few hours passed quickly. He hadn't been able to bring his whole wardrobe – in fact, when he'd spoken to Mrs Shelley about it yesterday, she'd advised that there wasn't much point in bringing fancy clothes as they could only wear civvies after dinner and on weekends, and most of the boys just brought lounging clothes. Still, he had a few too many clothes to comfortably fit in the the drawers (there wasn't a wardrobe in the room, and Kurt was glad he'd decided to leave his finer shirts at home). He ended up storing his underwear in his smaller suitcase and filling his would-be underwear drawer with accessories. He was surprised when, as he was setting up his mock vanity on top of the chest of drawers, he heard chatter and laughter coming from the hallway.

"Hey, you must be the new roomie! Name's Jeff, and this idiot's Lukas, and these losers are day-timers."

"Kurt," Kurt managed to say before the 'day-timers' burst into boisterous objections. He looked at them in bewilderment, and then Lukas caught his attention to shake his hand.

"Boys," the other boy said, grinning conspiratorially. He had a rather lovely lop-sided smile, and he was small – smaller than even Blaine, and he was the smallest guy their age Kurt had previously met.

Kurt couldn't help laughing, his roommates' acceptance of himself (because Kurt was wearing his tightest jeans, a dusty pink vest and a grey cravat – if Dalton was going to provide a safe space for him, he wasn't going to pull any punches) such a relief he could cry. And screw social conventions, Kurt was going to give Blaine the best kiss of his life when he next saw him.

Well, he'd been planning to do that anyway, but now Kurt had another reason.

Jeff – taller than Kurt by a couple of inches, with hair even more obviously died than Sam's – draped an arm over Kurt's shoulders and pointed towards the bed with the guitar and Harry Potter posters. "That bed is mine. I'm sure Mama Shelley ("She'll kill you if she hears you calling her that," one of the unnamed day students said) has laid down the law, but I'm gonna have to ask you to also not touch my bed unless you're about to chuck my sheets in the laundry or you've washed your hands first. And that's my desk, but if you're running out of pens then you'll have to take one of Lukas'."

"Jeff's a germophobe," Lukas said, rolling his eyes.

"About one third of Americans don't wash their hands after using the bathroom," Jeff retorted. "And that's if I'm _lucky_."

"It's fine – my old school's guidance counsellor has OCD," Kurt interjected. "Just as long as no one touches my vanity."

Jeff looked at Kurt's drawers and grinned. "Kurt, I think you and I are gonna get along just fine."


	13. chapter x

**Notes:** All my French comes from mostly-forgotten language classes, Google Translate and online tense tables. If I have something wrong, please let me know! I haven't provided translations for the French used but I'll add them at the end if you want, though it's not hard to get the gist of it at least. :)

* * *

**chapter x**

Kurt's alarm clock went off at six and his new roommates made vague, sleepily outraged noises of protest. He rolled his eyes as he turned it off and then grabbed his uniform, shower caddy and towel so he could get dressed in the bathroom – he'd seen _St Trinian's_, and he knew there was a difference between hazing and bullying. He'd rather not risk having to run back to his room in a towel or worst, stark naked.

It was quiet surreal, being at Dalton. He wasn't as lonely as he thought he would be: even being out of practise relating to straight boys, he could easily pick up on the camaraderie the boarding students had with each other, and everyone had been very welcoming so far. He wished Blaine were here to help him settle in, but with Jeff and Lukas, Kurt didn't feel Blaine's absence very keenly. Here at Dalton, he was just another guy.

As unappealing as it was, the uniform probably helped. Even if Kurt has accessorised it with a broach.

Kurt had AP French first period with the seniors so Jeff got a late pass from the office to take Kurt to the right classroom. There were only a handful of other students in the room so Kurt went to introduce himself to the teacher and got himself his first packet of catch-up work. Unfortunately, Mme. Favreau was so impressed that Kurt was already fairly fluent that she asked Kurt to stay up front to introduce himself to the class, too, and while they waited for the rest of the class to fill, Mme. Favraeu drew Kurt into a discussion about French artists.

Kurt had a feeling he could come to really love Dalton.

Almost all the seats were taken by the time the warning bell rang, and when Kurt looked, he recognised the Warbler who had spoken to him at Sectionals. His stomach squirmed unpleasantly but he forced a smile and a wave when the boy caught his eye. Oh god, Kurt had forgotten about him.

"_S'installer, classe,_" Mme. Favreau said. The noise quieted immediately. Kurt barely hid his surprise. "_Nous avons un nouvel élève, qui dirons quelques mots sur lui-même._"

Mme. Favreau stepped to the side and gestured for Kurt to speak. He took the floor with all the confidence of standing a fool standing in front of a line of footballers. "_Bonjour. Je m'appelle Kurt Hummel. J'ai juste transféré à partir de McKinley à Lima._"

The Warbler raised his hand and waited for Mme. Favreau to indicate he could speak. "_Je m'appelle Nick. Vous n'étiez pas dans les New Directions?_"

"_Oui. Je suis countre-ténor._"

"_Recrutes _après_ la classe, si'l vous plaît, M. Duvall._"

Nick grinned and nodded in acquiescence, and then pounced moments after the bell rang for the next lesson.

"Hey, congratulations for winning Sectionals, by the way!"

"I told you the Warblers didn't stand a chance."

"Man, no need to rub it in." He slung an arm around Kurt's shoulder, and Kurt startled, making Nick's arm drop, but the older boy brushed away an apology. "No sweat. Besides," he added in a lower voice, "it's not like you're the first person to transfer for the anti-bullying policy."

Kurt swallowed and nodded.

"Anyway, whatever, you're here now, right? And you'll be joining the Warblers?"

"I hadn't thought about it," Kurt lied. He would actually quite like to join the Warblers but he felt hesitant about it. He couldn't figure out why – it wasn't like he would be rivalling his old friends.

"You should. Seriously, Wes is gonna freak out so much when he finds out you're a countertenor! He's gonna be so upset he won't be able to use you in any competitions."

Blaine had said the same thing.

"I'm actually a junior so maybe I can help the Warblers win next year."

"No way. But you're in a senior French class!"

Kurt shrugged as a teacher came along and said, "Next classes, gentlemen."

"Sorry, Mrs Lumberg. Kurt, do you know where you're going next?" Kurt nodded. "Awesome. Hey, man, if you're on second lunch, come sit by me and I'll introduce you to Wes, alright?"

"Sure."

"I'll track you down if you don't, Kurt Hummel!" Nick laughed, and Kurt couldn't help but join in.

"See you at lunch," Kurt promised.

* * *

As Nick and Wes had predicted, Wes completely flipped when he found out Kurt was a countertenor. His reaction was almost as enthusiastic as Blaine's had been – which made sense considering how often the two had practiced arranging songs over their junior year to prepare for being on the council. Wes grilled Kurt about his range, started listing all the songs they could now add to their repertoire, and then sat silent and despondent when he realised that the Warblers' competition season was over.

"He's probably gonna be all over next year's council," Jeff sniggered. He'd been thrilled to find out Kurt was in the New Directions ("Do you even know what that sounds like?" "No." "Seriously? Oh, my god." "What?") and that he'd been invited to audition for the Warblers.

Kurt met Wes, David and Thad in the choir room after school. They gave him fifteen minutes to warm up and then he wowed them with his rendition of _Bring Him Home_. He was, of course, accepted immediately and given the rehearsal schedule, but it wasn't until the weekend when he actually had time to update his Facebook status – between bonding with his roommates, catching up on everything he'd missed, doing his homework and extracurriculars, he barely even had enough time to call his dad, let alone keep mess around on social media.

He was pleasantly surprised, if a little freaked out, to find a message from Lauren saying to 'ignore the haters and get your kink on at gay Hogwarts – blazers are hawt. Tell Puckerman that for me'. They'd barely interacted since she proclaimed him a badass. He sent a message back and, somehow, Lauren quickly became one of his closest friends.

Kurt easily and gladly fell into the routine of boarding school. His voice was praised in the Warblers as it had never been in the New Directions, and even though he rarely got a proper solo, he could always hear his voice distinct over the others. Even when the other boys used their falsettos, they couldn't go as high as Kurt without straining their voices, so he usually ended up carrying the countertenor part by himself. It became the best part of his day, and he would lie in bed after lights out pretending to tell Blaine all about it, how he was being featured in their set lists for the old folk homes and hospitals, and showing off his developing skills.

Most of his old friends were still upset with him – for transferring, for not giving them more warning, for not picking up their offer of protection, Kurt wasn't even sure anymore – but Lauren and Brittany and Sam (well, Lauren, mostly) kept him up to date with club gossip. The few weekends Kurt had a light enough homework load to go back home, Finn still point blank refused to talk to him.

There were few breaks in the routine – even the pranks and roughhousing and fights over the TV in his dorm quickly became normal. Being home for Thanksgiving was strange; it was the longest time he'd been home in weeks. Being surrounded by family, even if traditions had been modified, helped his insides settle in a way he hadn't been expecting. When he got back on Wednesday,

he immediately took over the kitchen and loudly regaled his family with more stories than he thought he'd have. He noticed Finn watching him a lot – and would have made a joke about Finn having a crush on him if he didn't know the taller boy would react badly, and Kurt was surprised to realise that he had guy friends now who actually wouldn't get all weird – but otherwise they didn't interact. It hurt Kurt a lot more than he thought it would.

On Black Friday, Kurt went with Mercedes and Tina to the mall the same as last year. But the atmosphere was stifled, the two girls obviously still having trouble accepting his transfer. After bitching out a poor old lady who was going for the scarf Kurt had his eye on, he sent an SOS text to Lauren and the heavyweight champion proved to be an extremely useful asset in cutthroat shopping. He apparently owed Lauren a box of Creme Eggs but that was a small price to pay for how well she kept the focus off Kurt's transfer. (Her original fee had been two boxes but Kurt had had to talk her down to one when everyone had gone home because she kept turning the conversation back to cute Dalton boys and her fetish for men in a uniform.)

He went back to Dalton feeling somewhat better about his old friendships, but within the week, everything but studying for finals fell by the wayside. He was still struggling to simultaneously catch up and keep up with his subjects so he asked around his classes for anyone who wouldn't mind tutoring him. Of course, he was already more than proficient in French, but Math and the sciences were not his strong suits.

A few weeks after Thanksgiving, Craig, the classmate who was helping him with Algebra asked him out.

"I have a boyfriend," Kurt said without thinking. Craig looked surprised.

"Oh, sorry, man, I didn't know. Never mind about that date, then. Is he hot?"

Kurt stared down at his book and saw Blaine beaming at him over the water, eyelashes clinging into points and hair lightly waved where it was pushed back from his forehead. "The most."

Somehow, he managed to wait until he was in the shower to start crying. How had he forgotten about Blaine? How had he let himself get so lax in his research that he'd let himself abandon his best friend and the guy he was in love with?

But he couldn't find the time to do it, especially since he had exhausted the idea of astral planes and had no idea what to look for next.

The last few weeks before finals simultaneously lasted a lifetime and went by in a flash, and Kurt found himself compartmentalising like he hadn't since his mom died. When he was studying, when he was singing, when he was talking to his dad or Lauren or Sam or Mercedes, when he was hanging out with any of the boys at Dalton, he steadfastly paid attention to that one thing – even when he was in bed and waiting for sleep, he focused only on thinking up new terms and combinations to search and not how he had let and was still letting his real life get in the way of saving Blaine.

* * *

That weekend, Kurt went home. It felt cowardly, as if he were running away from his problems – or maybe his failure – but he sorely needed a hug from his dad. He brushed off all his family's concerns and retreated to his room immediately after dinner.

An hour later, Rachel showed up on the Hummel-Hudson doorstep.

"Rachel. I thought you and Finn had broken up."

"We did," Rachel said, not looking ashamed at all. "But I'm actually here to see you!"

Kurt just raised an eyebrow. He and Rachel had never been friends, even after she'd duetted with him after he dissolved his partnership with Sam. They were frenemies at best, rivals at worst.

"It's true," Rachel insisted. "Various members of the New Directions have mentioned how much happier you are now that you're away from the terror of Karofsky – although I should mention that he hasn't thrown a single slushy since he's returned so maybe his period of expulsion has given him a new frame of mind – and I realised that now would be an excellent time to make amends. Our rivalry has been, if not challenging, then at least stimulating. I never would have told you this if you hadn't transferred," she added in a lower, more sincere tone, "but you are definitely the second best singer in the club. If you had any real vocal training, I'm sure you could easily become as good as I am."

That was probably the nicest thing Rachel had ever said to him. And it was definitely the closest he would get to an offer of friendship from her.

"Fine," he sighed. "I was just about to watch _The Sound of Music_."

"Wonderful!" Rachel beamed. "Should I get changed into my pyjamas now or are we going to do that later? I've never had a real sleepover before."

Kurt had been about to kick her out – he was _not_ going to have a sleepover with Rachel Berry – but her last statement stopped him. It wasn't surprising that she'd never been to a sleepover before, because he remembered her being just as obnoxious at eight as she was at sixteen, but she had displayed none of her usual tells of manipulation and, honestly, Kurt felt sorry for her.

"Next time give me some more warning and we can have a proper sleepover with more of the girls," he acquiesced, "but for now you can just dump your stuff in my room and then we can make some snacks."

To Kurt's surprise, he found hanging out with Rachel was almost fun, once he managed to get her to talk about herself less. He could almost see why Finn liked her enough to date her. They had great fun singing along to all the songs and dancing to _So Long, Farewell_, and Rachel was surprisingly enthusiastic to hear about Dalton.

"There's sheet music in the school library?" she asked excitedly. "Kurt, I'm so jealous! The only time I get new sheet music is if I buy it from Between the Sheets because there is not a single library in Lima which stocks it."

"It is a really impressive library," Kurt admits. "It's got two floors and private study rooms. One of my friends is a bibliophile and he spends literally all his spare time in the library."

"I bet you could find anything in there," Rachel said, and she carried on talking but Kurt didn't hear a word of it.

How could he have been so dumb? He'd searched the internet for as much free information as possible – but he hadn't even thought of physical books. Google Books, yes, of course, but for all the times he'd sat in the library it hadn't even crossed his mind to look there, or even to talk to the librarian.

"Kurt? Are you alright?"

Kurt snapped out of his thoughts and smiled at Rachel, a bit too widely if her returning confused smile was anything to go by.

"I'm fine," he understated.

He couldn't wait to get back to school.


	14. fourth interlude

**fourth interlude**

Blaine had been here for years. Or, at least, it felt like it. Himself and the blackness and the chill and the damp and the roughness scraping at his skin and the voice.

He was probably going insane. He had thought, for some length of time, though for who knew how long exactly, that the voice was schizophrenia, insecurities externalised into another being. He didn't know what it was now, but it probably wasn't that.

_Oh, Blaine._

Something touched his hair. Nerves throughout his body sparked with fire; Blaine couldn't move to scream.

_You're all alone. You poor child._

He'd been thinking about his parents a lot recently. And his brother. Cooper had been fine when Blaine came out – _But you hadn't come out to him for almost six months after you came out to everyone else. He didn't find out until you were in hospital, bloody and beaten because you couldn't fend for yourself. He wasn't around very much after he left, was he?_

But Cooper had been fine with it. And he hadn't let Blaine dwell on the seniors who'd attacked him. He'd been wonderful. Their parents . . .

_For how long did your father freeze you out? For how long were you subject to stares, conversations changed when you walked in the room, set up with daughters of co-workers?_

Months. Years.

_They're probably relieved you're not there anymore._

The voice was lying. Telling the truth. Lie.

_I can see it all in your head, poor, pathetic, friendless._

He had friends. People who chose to love him. And his parents did love him. They weren't always very good at showing it, and they didn't understand that nothing had changed, but they loved him, he was sure of it.

_How sure? How much money do you think they're wasting on you while you cling to life?_

Life. So Blaine was still alive. His body was still alive somewhere and his mind was still alive here.

He could still wake up. Kurt could still come back and find him.

Pain again – agony – more than fire – pain pain pain pain—

_Your hope is so delicious. So futile._

He couldn't scream – so much pain – everywhere – KURT—

_You'll see it my way. One day._

The pain was gone. So was the voice. Blaine was alone.

No. No, he was never alone. The voice was gone but not gone, still at the back of his head. Waiting. For him. For Blaine. For Blaine to fail. Failure was giving in.

Blaine didn't give in. He ran away.

But if giving in meant running away from the pain . . .

What colour were Kurt's eyes?


	15. chapter xi

**Notes:** Yes, yes, I'm aware that the librarian in Harry Potter is called Madam Pince (if you caught that) but the 'r' is intentional.

* * *

**chapter xi**

Kurt couldn't concentrate at all during his lessons on Monday, and he had to avoid the library until leisure time because otherwise he wouldn't have been able to drag himself away. He rushed through his homework – after all, what did one crappy assignment matter? Everything else he'd turned in was fine, and as long as he stayed at Dalton he'd never get a speech at his graduation ceremony anyway – and then ran off to the library before it closed at five.

"Hi," he greeted the librarian. Ms Prince, according to the tag on her desk. Oh, Blaine probably loved that. "I'm looking for some, uh, books on astral planes? Or, anything that supernaturally causes people to go into comas. It's for an extra credit project," he said and then winced. First rule of lying: don't give up lots of information.

"Anything more specific?"

Kurt shrugged. "Sorry."

Ms Prince pursed her lips. "I can't think of any specific books but—" She scrawled down some numbers on a bit of memo paper. "Here are some sections which you'll find useful. It's the Dewey Decimal System. Follow the shelves in a spiral to follow the numbers so: 130 – paranormal phenomena and occult, 290 – non-Christian religions," she listed as she pointed in the right directions. "Just remember the library's closing in an hour and you can only take out up to ten books at a time. And if you find any reference books but they aren't in the library, I can request them from other schools."

"Yes. Thank you." Kurt gave the old woman his most sincere smile and then headed off to the occult section. He didn't have much time today and he wanted to scope out how many books which could be useful so, for now, he had resigned himself to making a list of all the potentially useful in-school books. If he had enough time, he would take out some of the more relevant-sounding ones.

Unsurprisingly – and yet, still disappointingly – there was only a small number of books Kurt could put on his list across both sections, even if he was stretching his definition of 'relevant-sounding'. Still, he took seven books from the 'paranormal phenomena and occult' section and three on general mythology, and then skimmed a barely relevant fourth mythology book while he had time before the library closed.

It took him a little under two weeks to get through all the books. There were a few almost hits – demons which murdered, for example. But nothing was ever quite right. If Kurt hadn't seen pictures of Blaine in a few of his friends' phones and rooms, he would had started to believe he'd made the whole thing up in his head again. At this point, he had to accept that his life was a paranormal romance or a Gothic novel, because the only other option was that he'd had a complete psychotic break and was hallucinating all those pictures of and conversations about Blaine. He was pretty sure he'd seen a few films and TV programmes with that plot. And there was _Just Like Heaven_, but Kurt didn't want to risk losing Blaine for real because he saw a possible solution on TV.

Luckily, over the past week, Ms Prince had been borrowing extra reference books at Kurt's request, so he wasn't completely out of reading material. And it was even interesting material, but Kurt quickly got frustrated with just how useless it was, and how useless he himself was.

One day, he got a text from Lauren saying 'so I hear you're interested in the occult now. Welcome to the dark side', and he wasn't sure what how to react.

Half an hour later, he had a list of recommended reading almost thirty items long.

* * *

Wes banged his gavel against the desk to signal the moving on of the agenda. (It was a running joke in the Warblers that Wes had an unhealthy relationship with his gavel due to the sheer amount he used it within the space of one meeting. Kurt had counted a few times. The average was twenty.)

"Next to discuss is our next public performance. It's in Kenton, which is a bit farther away than our usual performances."

"Why is it so far away?" someone at the back of the room asked.

Wes huffed. "Well, if you'd let me finish, you would've found out."

Most of the boys laughed quietly to themselves. Jeff had his hand clapped over his mouth.

"As some of you know, a Warbler, who would have been a senior this year, was over the summer involved in a car accident and is now in a coma." Kurt sat up and gave Wes his full attention, barely noticing that the atmosphere of the rest of the room was suddenly a lot more sombre. "He lives in Kenton. The council has decided that, with Christmas approaching, we should visit Warbler Blaine to give him some old fashioned Christmas cheer."

Kurt smiled. He hoped Blaine would be able to hear them, or at least he would be able to feel the cheer.

"The main segment of our visit, however, will be to the paediatric ward at large. We've talked to Headmistress Farhi and she has agreed that because this performance is so far away, and because it could potentially be distressing to some of you, this isn't compulsory. If you choose, you can also take part in only the general performance and sit with our supervisor while some of us go and see Blaine. All in favour?" Kurt's hand shot up, as did a large number of other people's. "All opposed?" No hands went up. "Motion carried. We'll have an extra meeting tomorrow for those of you who want to attend to get permission slips and go over the rules of this excursion. Please give your name to Thad if you'll be here tomorrow so we can print off the right number of slips and get an idea of parts."

Wes banged the gavel against the desk.

"Now, everyone get in formation for _Moves Like Jagger_ . . ."

Kurt couldn't focus for the rest of the rehearsal, and more than once he was reprimanded by all three members of the council for not keeping time or pitch.

At the end of the hour, he was one of the first to sign up. Thad gave him a strange look, so Kurt just gave him the same excuse he'd given to Nick back at Sectionals – he'd known Blaine as a child.

"Did you have a cute little kid crush on him?" Thad asked, grinning.

"I wouldn't call it 'little' . . ." Kurt muttered.

"Don't worry – everyone has a crush on Blaine at one point or other. The guy's just so oblivious." Thad shook his head. "Can you imagine how much everyone's gonna spoil him when he wakes up?"

On the one hand, Kurt could fend them off and fuss over Blaine enough to make a mother hen jealous. On the other hand, Kurt could just sit back and capitalise on Blaine's admirers. Well, if they would delude themselves . . .

"I'm definitely keeping my fingers crossed for a Christmas miracle," Kurt said.

"What if Blaine had a crush on you when you were kids too?" Nick said with a dreamy look in his eye. "Wouldn't that just be the cutest? And you're true loves and just being in your presence makes him wake up?"

"Maybe I'll kiss him just to make sure." Kurt's stomach swooped at the thought. He hoped he wasn't blushing too obviously.

* * *

Kurt entered his dorm to find Jeff and Lukas lying in almost identical spread eagle positions on their beds, and he raised his eyebrows.

"Aren't you being a little melodramatic?" he asked. "And this is coming from me."

"Finals are God's way of punishing us for Adam and Eve's sins," Lukas mumbled into his bed cover.

"As if high school weren't bad enough," Jeff agreed. He stretched out, moaning obscenely when his joints popped loud enough for Kurt to hear them across the room.

Kurt rolled his eyes. "I hope you realise that if you studied as much as you played laser tag then you wouldn't need to complain so much now."

"First of all, it's not laser _tag_, it's laser _war_, and secondly, if it's good enough for Barney Stinson then it's good enough for me."

"Give it up, Jeff, you're never gonna be even half the ladies' man he is," Lukas said.

"I don't need to be half. I only need to be, like, a quarter. Or maybe a third. But no lower than a fifth 'cause what am I, a monk?" Jeff retorted. "And anyway, I can make up the numbers with guys. Do you know what the LA gay bar scene is like?"

"You are disgusting," Kurt informed him. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a study group to go to."

"Is that how you do it?" Jeff asked, sitting up with exaggerated effort. At Kurt's carefully crafted judging expression, the blond-haired boy added, "Read a different book basically every day. Or I guess I should call them tomes."

"Tomes is a good word for them," Lukas piped up while Kurt tried desperately not to blush and told himself that no, he didn't actually need an excuse for why he read so many 'tomes'.

"Yes. It's called time management. Maybe you should try it sometime," he replied archly.

Jeff sighed, flopping down onto his bed again. "I miss when you read _Teen Vogue_ and _Elle_ – I think my IQ cries whenever I see that pile under your bed."

Despite his best efforts, there was most certainly a flush creeping up Kurt's cheeks.

"That's not my problem. Good luck cramming for your English final tomorrow."

As Jeff swore and scrambled for his books, bag and shoes, and Lukas followed grudgingly and at a slower pace, Kurt gathered his French notes, textbooks and pencil case. There wasn't much use in bringing the final item, since Kurt had used up most of his highlighter and pen ink making research and study notes, but he figured he could at least keep up the pretence.

Tomorrow was the last day of finals. It had been surprising how many students actually took their studying seriously – even Jeff, who was one of the more . . . _laid-back_ students, worked harder than even the most academic troglodyte at McKinley. Most of the finals were over, of course; that Sunday was the visit to the hospital (and Blaine, and Kurt's heart jumped every time he remembered), and then there was one more week of school before winter break.

He was no closer to finding a way back to Blaine, or to bring Blaine out of his (most likely supernaturally induced) coma. The closest thing to a working theory he had was from _Harry Potter_ – Voldemort's creepy baby thing was a creature which existed in Harry's head, creating a link between them; could the castle and the Lake exist only in Blaine's head and Kurt, somehow connected, was only able to visit, for lack of a better term, while Blaine's body wasn't trying to die? But that just brought Kurt back to square one, where he didn't know how to bring Blaine back to consciousness, never mind able to survive without life support.

It probably said something that Kurt's best shot at an answer was from a young adult book series, but Kurt wasn't going to examine that too closely. Those occult books had to be good for something more than just a distraction otherwise Kurt would go mad.

Kurt managed not to think about it throughout both his study sessions, or even when he was skimming two more chapters of the latest book Lauren had recommended to him. He managed not to think about how, in less than seventy-two hours, he would be seeing Blaine in real life – or, well, Blaine's body, at least, but between basically last-minute tutoring French and trying to wrap his head around Physics, Kurt was far too tired for a theological and philosophical debate with himself about the existence of souls.


	16. chapter xii

**Notes:** Please remember that I don't know anything about hospital procedure, especially when visiting someone in a coma on life support; the only time I've been in hospital since I was four was because of a short operation after which I didn't even need to stay overnight (though I have some funny, irrelevant-to-the-fic stories about it). That being said, enjoy the final chapter of Book Two, and I will see you again on Monday 12th August!

* * *

**chapter xii**

Kurt couldn't stop fidgeting, tapping his fingers against his legs or pulling on the hems of his blazer. He was wearing his earphones but no music was playing. He wouldn't be able to focus on it, anyway; he could only think about seeing Blaine again for the first time in weeks, and in the real world. Anxiety and excitement twisted into a knot in his stomach, so tight he could barely discern one from the other.

But the headphones served a purpose of providing an excuse to not make conversation with the other boys, or join in their games and sing-alongs on their journey to the hospital. He saw Jeff looking at him regularly in the reflection of the window and was thankful the other boy knew to leave him to himself.

The hour seemed to stretch on for days, and the time slowed down even more once the Warblers got bored of singing and setted down into groups or studying. Kurt stared out the window and flipped his silent iPhone in his hands.

When Jeff did finally get Kurt's attention, Kurt was surprised to see the bus had already stopped in the hospital parking lot.

The last time Kurt had been at a hospital, his dad had been in a coma. Oh, God, he hadn't even thought of that.

"You okay, man?" Jeff asked as Kurt stumbled off the bus.

"Yeah. Thanks." Kurt gave the other boy a shaky smile, and Jeff remained totally, unsurprisingly unconvinced. "I just don't like hospitals," Kurt added. At that, Jeff grimaced empathetically.

"I hear ya. Hospitals are so full of germs and gross sick people and—" He cut himself off with a shudder and Kurt's smile was genuine this time.

"Maybe you'll be able to convince them to give you a decontamination shower before we leave."

"They do those?" Kurt nodded. "Cool!"

"Warblers and non-Warblers, attention!" Wes called form the steps of the bus. Less than half the boys quietened so Wes clapped his hands together and shouted, "Everyone, shut up!"

"I bet someone misses their gavel," someone muttered, and the group broke out into a short round of giggles.

"To remind everyone," Wes said to his now silent crowd, "first on our agenda is to visit Warbler Blaine. He's on life support so he can only have up to three visitors at a time. Anyone who is here just to play with or sing to the children can wait in the main ward with Mr Collins and Ms Marsh and you can play with the kids while you wait.

"After that, we'll perform our set list and then we'll have about an hour afterwards to play with the kids. If you feel like you need a break, take someone with you, preferably either Mr Collins or Ms Marsh or myself, David or Thad, but otherwise keep to the buddy system.

"Remember, you're all wearing your uniforms and your behaviour will reflect on the school, so at least pretend you're upstanding Dalton gentlemen." Wes paused for a moment, seemingly making eye contact with everyone, and then nodded. "Alright, everyone follow Thad and David, and once we're signed in we'll figure out the order in which everyone who wants to can see Blaine." He jumped off the steps and the boys immediately started talking again, though in a much calmer manner than on the coach. Kurt would always be impressed by how easily they slipped into their respectable school personas, especially since the adults weren't the ones bossing everyone around – Mr Schue couldn't even get the New Directions to stop screaming at each other in the green room.

As they all headed inside, Nick pushed his way between Jeff and Kurt and threw his arms around their shoulders. "Dude, I'm so psyched to see Blaine again," he said. "Finals suck. My parents suck. They've been forcing me to study on weekends so I haven't been able to visit for _weeks_."

"Same here," Jeff said. "They practically chained me to my desk. I never thought I'd say this but I've missed his stupid face."

Nick nodded sagely in agreement, and Kurt's heart swelled. He forgot, sometimes, that it wasn't just for himself and for Blaine that he needed to find a way back to him – it was for Blaine's friends and family, too. Blaine hadn't heard his loved ones' voices in months, and at the time they'd both been concerned they'd stopped visiting, though of course neither had voiced it; now, Kurt suspected it was probably just Blaine sinking deeper into the dream world, or whatever it was.

At the paediatric ward, Wes did a head count and then Ms Marsh signed them in, and the boys who were there just for the kids went straight into the waiting room with the teachers. When only the boys visiting Blaine were left, Wes divided them into groups of three. He reminded them no more than five minutes, and then the council went in to Blaine's private room. The curtains were closed, so no one could see in.

Because everyone believed Kurt and Blaine had been childhood friends, they allowed Kurt to be in one of the first groups to go into Blaine's room. Kurt felt guilty about continuing to lie to them – but it wasn't as if he could tell them the truth. Besides, this way he would get it done quickly and wouldn't start truly freaking out.

"Kurt, Nick, Kevin, your turn."

Kurt stood on shaky legs. _Please don't let me throw up,_ he thought.

And then there was Blaine, with a pasty overtone to his tan skin and tubes everywhere. And the only signs of life were the steady beep of the pulse monitor and the hiss of the ventilator.

"You okay, Kurt?" Nick asked. Kurt took a deep breath, nodded, and made his way to the side of Blaine's bed.

The differences between the Blaine in his head and the one on the bed were even more obvious this close; his wrists were so thin they looked as if it wouldn't take long for them to snap; his collar bones jutted from his chest; his arms, encased in short-sleeved pyjamas, looked thin and weak. Kurt was scared to touch him.

"Blaine," he whispered. But that broke the dam and tears slipped down his cheeks.

"Come on, let's go for a walk," Nick said, although Kurt didn't register it until they were already outside the room and Nick had told Wes where they were going.

They didn't go far; only to a bench near a vending machine around the corner from the paediatric ward. Nick bought some water and sat there until Kurt could speak through his tears.

"That was harder than I thought it'd be," he admitted, giving the older boy a half-heartedly self-deprecating smile.

"He's always had a flair for the dramatic – he's probably just biding his time to wake up for when a doctor brings up taking him off life support."

Kurt choked a laugh. That sounded like Blaine.

"You want me to go get some tissues for you?" Nick asked. "Or, well, toilet paper."

"Toilet paper's fine," Kurt agreed. He'd have to moisturise extra tonight anyway, thanks to his crying, so what did toilet paper instead of soft tissues matter? Nick patted him on the shoulder and left Kurt to process a bit more calmly.

After Nick had turned the corner, Kurt closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing, slowly and deeply, and tried not to think about how he was following the same rhythm as Blaine's ventilator.

"You!" Someone grabbed Kurt's forearm tight enough so it would bruise and Kurt opened his eyes in alarm – barely inches from his face was a young woman, her eyes wide and fearful. "You've been touched, you've—"

"Let go of me," Kurt demanded, but the woman's grip remained strong no matter how much he tried to pull his arm away, and her other hand came up to clutch at his chest.

"No, you need to save – the demon has someone – you need to save—"

Kurt froze. "How do you know that?" he whispered.

"I can sense its touch on you – but it hasn't taken you? It doesn't want you. It wants—"

"My friend," Kurt finished. The woman nodded quickly.

"You don't belong there but the connection – there's a link between all minds and it's so strong – _don't forget about hope and love_, where they're from, promise—"

"I promise," Kurt said quickly. "How can I save him? Please tell me—what are you doing?"

The woman's eyes had rolled into the back of her head even as her grip tightened, and she was chanting. Kurt couldn't understand the words but then – then Nick was back, trying to pull her off him and shouting for a nurse. The woman continued to chant, as she was finally separated from Kurt, and he could hear her shouting all the way down the hall.

"Are you okay, man?" Nick asked, wide-eyed. Kurt barely heard him; his mind was racing, trying to store everything the woman had said because it might be helpful. He had no idea what she was talking about, but she clearly knew something. She might even have told him how to get to Blaine – maybe if he wished it hard enough?

"Yeah, fine," he eventually said. "We should be getting back now."

He saw Nick looking at him with worry about of the corner of his eye as they walked back to the paediatric ward and he wiped his face clean. Just before they went back in, Kurt stopped Nick.

"Look, don't tell the council or any of the teachers, okay? Nothing happened, I promise. I'm not even freaked out."

"I'm pretty sure at least the teachers should know," Nick disagreed.

"_Nick_."

"Fine. I won't tell."

"Thank you," Kurt breathed.

"Sure. So are you ready to sing your cute tush off?"

Kurt laughed, startled. "Always."

They didn't have to wait long – the last trio was in with Blaine, and when they came out, the nurses gathered the children and David introduced them. He easily had the most comforting vibe out of the whole council, and he made the kids laugh a few times before the Warblers started on their first song. The set list was a mix of pop songs, folk songs and rounds, and the non-Warbler students encouraged the children to join in if they knew the words.

Kurt wondered if Blaine could hear them.

They had just finished a round of _Coming Round the Mountain_ when suddenly the room seemed very far away. A quiet, high-pitched noise quickly overpowered the sounds of the hospital. Kurt felt his legs buckle underneath him, and then—

And then Kurt collapsed onto a stretch of grass, and in front of him, the Lake stretched on for miles.

**END OF BOOK TWO**


	17. BOOK THREE chapter xiii

**Notes:** I have good news and bad news for you guys. The good news is: this is the final book! In the next six chapters, at least most of your questions will be answered! However, the bad news is: after I've published the next interlude on Saturday, I have to take a hiatus of either one or two weeks. I have an exam and three essays due at the end of this month and it's very unlikely I'll be able to find the time to finish writing/editing the last few chapters, and I don't want to leave you with a cliffhanger. If I have a burst of energy this week, I'll be able to continue publishing after just a week's break; otherwise, you're gonna have to wait until I've done my exam. I'm so sorry, especially since I've had such lovely readers and reviewers. (Thank you to themuse19 for the rec!)

Also, this is when the fic starts becoming violent. There will be death (neither Kurt nor Blaine's, but I'm not spoiling further than that), as well as more mental torture and some aftereffects of it.

* * *

**BEFORE I WAKE  
BOOK TWO  
THE END OF EVERYTHING**

**chapter xiii**

Kurt scrambled to his feet and looked around. He was stunned to see that the landscape was different – the sky had been growing darker when he'd last been there, darker as Blaine grew more lethargic – but now, now the place was almost unrecognisable, and it definitely didn't help that Kurt could barely see ten feet in front of him through the twilight-dark sky and thick mist. Whereas before when the Lake had been beautiful and so clear Kurt could see to the bottom, now the water as murky, and Kurt didn't want to look too closely at whatever was floating in it; the grass beneath his hands and knees grew in dull brown patches, and the dirt was dry and cracked; if Kurt squinted, he could just about make out the rocks, but either the mist was playing tricks on him or the very silhouette of the rocks had changed shape. Kurt realised he was probably seeing this world for what it really was.

Kurt swallowed hard and slowly stood up. His legs almost gave away again but he managed to stay upright. He tried to control his breathing – slow, deep, steady breaths, like when he did yoga – to try and steady his heartbeat.

And his quick, shallow, panicking breaths had carried through the mist, and Kurt wanted to make as little noise as possible. This wasn't the place where he and Blaine had spent hours having cannonball competitions and making jewellery from grass in lieu of absent flowers; who knew if there was anything dangerous out there now?

He couldn't see a single sign of Blaine, not even as his eyes adjusted to the fog. He bit his lip. "Blaine?" he whispered, and then he called again at the top of his voice. His voice, Blaine's name echoed all around him, high and thin and eerily echoing; Kurt froze and held his breath, but there wasn't a single noise in response. Still, he didn't want to hang around in this spot for much longer – just because he couldn't hear anything, that didn't mean nothing was coming.

To the castle, then, he decided. After all, if Blaine wasn't by the Lake, the castle was the only place left. Blaine had never wandered far when everything was fine, and no matter how long it had taken Kurt to get here again, no way would Blaine have just gone for a stroll when the place looked like this.

Any other alternative didn't bear thinking about.

It took Kurt some time to figure out the right direction in which to walk. He had to follow the edge of the Lake until the undergrowth became impossible to move through just to make sure the marks in the fog were actually the rocks and not his imagination, and then he had to move slowly to keep the distance and direction from the rocks straight.

The forest was easily the most different and frustrating change. The trees were so tall they blocked most of the already dim lighting, and most of them were pines and it seemed that even in a supernatural world evergreens didn't die; but still, there were lots of damaged and dangling branches, some branches that had fallen right off the trees, bare branches from oak trees which caught on Kurt's clothes and skin and hair, and marks that Kurt _definitely_ didn't want to look very closely at.

It wasn't only dead trees that tore Kurt's skin either; the undergrowth was wild and thick and almost impossible to navigate through. Kurt could only hope he was still heading in the right direction, because Kurt's only choices were to take his time and keep his clothes relatively intact or go quickly and hurt himself. (The fact that he could feel pain was more than a little worrying.) The forest's only saving grace – not that it really counted – was that the further away from the Lake Kurt got, the lighter the mist became, and so too did the damp chill slowly fade.

He lost track of time as he walked. If it weren't for the different levels of thorns from the bushes – some tore through his trousers, others pricked at his elbow – he would think he was barely moving at all. He knew the castle was well within a single night's walk from the Lake, so he couldn't have been unconscious for very long so far. He wondered if his dad had been contacted yet and guilt landed heavily in his stomach.

He had just . . . dropped. Kurt didn't know exactly how he'd got here – obviously, it had something to do with that woman from the hospital, at this point he wouldn't be surprised if the chanting had been some kind of spell – but as far as the rest of the world was concerned, he had one moment been fit and healthy, and the next he had been unconscious. The rest of the Dalton boys, and maybe even the children, had probably freaked out. Jeff undoubtedly would have, given that they were in a hospital. But that also meant he was literally surrounded by people who could, at the very least, put his loved ones at some ease.

Kurt's final appearance here was infinitely more preferable than Blaine's; better to just faint in a hospital than fall into a coma due to extensive injury from a car accident. Of course, that didn't answer the questions of why Kurt was now in this place permanently whereas before it had just been in his sleep; or why it had been so lovely to begin with and grown more horrifying as Blaine had grown weaker; or why Kurt had been unable to access here after Blaine's real body had had to be connected to life support.

It didn't take an idiot to realise questions were connected somehow. Kurt just wished he had the answers.

He had barely any warning – a crunch of dead leaves and broken branches, harsh breathing – before he was crashed into the ground. He landed heavily on his arm and cried out. Bucked and twisted his body because there was something on him, hard and long and smelling of rotting meat, and though it seemed to weigh barely more than Brittany it was somehow everywhere, curling all around him.

A moment of searing pain in his jaw. Something trickled down his neck. With a yell, Kurt pushed up with some unknown strength and staggered to his feet, throwing the creature off him.

It's face was sunken and grey; it's eyes wild, sharp teeth and thin lips wet with red. Two arms and hunched shoulders and concave chest little more than skin, bones and taught, twisted muscles.

The thing dove forward again, snarling. Kurt ducked and brought up his arm to catch across its neck. It whined as it stumbled back but quickly gained its footing and came after Kurt again, and again Kurt reacted without thinking, pushing his arm out and up. Something cracked. The thing exploded, covering Kurt's front with a fine layer of dust.

Kurt coughed, using the inside of his blazer to wipe his face with shaking hands. And then he threw up.

Everything ached – the arm he'd landed on and subsequently used to defend himself, his shoulder, his back, his hand, his stomach, his lungs, his jaw where he'd been _bitten_. Even the tiny scratches from the branches and thorns seemed greater as the adrenalin died down.

He wished he were back at the Lake. Even muddy, he would rather be dirty than covered in evidence that he'd killed something.

Bile burned Kurt's throat as he threw up again, and tears burned his eyes as he sobbed. He buried his face in his blazer, hoping to muffle some of the sound – and stem the blood flow from his cheek – because he knew there was no way he could survive another attack. In fact, he knew he should keep moving. The faster he got to the castle, the safer he would – probably – be. But he wasn't even sure he was moving in the right direction anymore, and he'd just killed something, even though it in was self defence, and he couldn't – stop – crying!

_Pull yourself together,_ he thought harshly. _You're no good to Blaine if you don't stop crying and get moving!_

Kurt didn't know how long it took him to gather himself up. Long enough for the acrid taste in his mouth to fade, for his knees to creak and complain when he managed to stand, for his pains to fade into a dull throb. He was probably lucky another one of those . . . _things_ hadn't come along, or at least had passed him by. The sky hadn't changed at all, as jarringly empty as it always had been.

But eventually, he pushed forward once again. His legs were weak and his head was stuffy and his neck and shirt were covered in blood, but Blaine needed him, and he wasn't going to let him down again.

* * *

**End notes:** Spoiler: the thing is not a zombie. Your mind my have jumped there because of grey flesh, snarling humanoid and biting, but there are no zombies in this fic. Next chapter is a good'un! ;)


	18. chapter xiv

**chapter xiv**

By the time Kurt stumbled upon the castle, the bottom half of his trousers were in tatters, and the only reason his feet had survived was because Kurt was wearing his black Doc Martens instead of loafers. Most of his muscles ached – he went on fairly regular shopping sprees but he felt like he'd been walking for a lot longer than that. He almost cried again, though this time from relief, when the castle popped up in front of him out of nowhere.

But, just like the lake, just like the forest, the castle was different; its structure was no longer derelict; the wood and stone was smooth and fresh and strong, even as vines clung to the sides, and it all looked so very clean. And the most terrifying and unnerving difference was the dim glow emitting from the still-cracked-open door and through the high-placed window slits.

Kurt bit his lip and looked around nervously, but nothing was moving and no one seemed to have noticed him. He crept forward and peered through the gap in the door, and caught a quick glance of people before wrenching himself away with a gasp.

His pulse thundered in his ears and his breathing came too loud, but no one came looking for him, no one sounded an alarm or started shouting for an intruder, and eventually, his panic abated into a low current at the back of his mind. Slowly, he looked through the door again. There were still people there – had they always been there, invisible in the light? or had they just appeared one day like himself and Blaine? – but they didn't seem to notice Kurt even as he cautiously slipped through the crack in the door and entered the hallway.

As Kurt took in his surroundings, something niggled at him as off. It could be the walls – whereas before they were bare but for unlit torches and random bolts, now there were gruesome, beautiful tapestries in fine condition and flickering flames which only served to deepen the shadows, and the paints were restored to their full glory. It could be the oppressive almost-silence – there was no noise coming from the dining hall or the kitchen, and there was only a faint whisper of feet against stone that suggested more people that Kurt couldn't see.

It was probably the fact that Kurt was the only one with a real shadow; the others barely had more than a mere wisp in the torchlight.

Kurt suppressed a shudder, but he couldn't ignore the chill of panic resettling along his spine.

You're here to find Blaine, Kurt reminded himself, and it was only then he could force himself to move his feet. He followed the same route as when the two boys had first explored the castle, through the dining hall (dozens of people, some listlessly wandering, most sitting at the polished wooden tables and staring at nothing), the kitchen (empty but for one small child looking sadly at the stove), the courtyard (teeming with people despite the darkness, all of them silent), and the garden, where the pond was full and the bridges and gazebo in perfect condition.

As he made his way slowly through the castle, even venturing up the stairs with barely a hesitation, Kurt forced himself to look at every single person he passed; but not once did he see loose black curls and hazel doe eyes and a uniform identical to his own. He wondered if he should ask someone but the thought was frightening enough that Kurt couldn't help but whimper at it.

No one even glanced his way. Kurt eventually unfroze and, heart thumping in his stomach, loudly cleared his throat. Once again, he was ignored completely.

Kurt didn't know for how long he explored the castle, how long he stood on the outskirts of a popular area and stared at unknown faces of all age and race and feature until they blurred into one, but eventually, he became tired. Not physically – but he was exhausted from his fruitless search, and he ached with how much he missed his family and friends and the thought of how worried they must be for slid down against a wall, buried his head in his knees, and cried.

* * *

After running out of tears, Kurt attacked his search with a renewed vigour. He was done feeling sorry for himself – his mom dying, being bullied from three years old, losing the only connection to his best friend, Karofsky, the transfer. Oh, sure, it was discouraging that Kurt never saw the same face twice, that he was convinced he'd looked in every corner, and he hadn't spoken aloud in what felt like years, but he was going to find Blaine if it was the last thing he did. He followed every staircase, walked every corridor, hauled open every door, and peered behind every tapestry just in case there were any secret passages. He even took the time to clean himself up in the pond surrounding the gazebo so Blaine wouldn't freak out too much when he saw him.

And, eventually, he was rewarded. On the ground floor, far from anything which could be inferred to be a communal living space or heavy-flowing area by owner, guest or servant, a door opened into a flight of stairs which led down into darkness.

"Blaine?" he tentatively called down, his throat dry. Unsurprisingly, there was no reply.

Kurt rolled his shoulders and then stood on his toes to pull one of the torches from the wall. It was a struggle; the bolts were just high enough so that Kurt almost dropped it on him – which wouldn't have ended well, because it probably would have burnt him – but before too long, Kurt was holding the rough, heavy wood. The flame was unexpectedly, welcomingly warm, and Kurt allowed himself a few moments to close his eyes and soak it in before he descends the steps.

Barely five steps down, the only light is from the torch; Kurt could see maybe half a foot in either direction. He breathed in deeply, cautiously reached out to balance himself against one of the cold walls, and slowly, slowly, slowly continued. His feet hardly touched the stone steps, but still the light tap, tap, tap echoed with Kurt's shallow breaths, and more than once Kurt swore he felt something brush against his skin. The first time, Kurt almost dropped the torch, and then he almost burnt his hand in his haste to catch it. There was nothing behind him; even when he held the torch out at arm's length, the only things he could see were uneven steps and narrow walls. So Kurt swallowed, regathered his courage, and ignored the instincts that were screaming for him to turn back.

He had a feeling he wouldn't be able to wake up without Blaine anyway. The last thing he could remember before opening his eyes by the Lake was singing Coming Round the Mountain in the paediatric unit. Obviously, he hadn't fallen asleep; therefore, the woman must have done something to him – cast a spell or a curse or a chant or whatever, at this point, Kurt would believe anything. Maybe he would even reevaluate his whole stance on religion when he woke up.

For how long had he been walking down this staircase? It felt like an age; his knees and shins and feet ached; his arms were sore from carrying the torch, and not even holding it in both hands helped to alleviate the pain; his clothes and hair were not completely dry. If it weren't for the change in the air, how it grew colder and damper and heavier, Kurt would think a trick were being played on him.

Carefully, Kurt sat down and balanced the torch between his knees so he could tear one of the buttons from his shirt. It took a few sharp tugs which nearly dislodged the torch, but mass-produced stitching was no match for teeth. He stood again just as carefully though much slower, his arm immediately protesting holding the heavy torch by itself because the other hand was tightly clutching the loose button.

It took three seconds and two dozen heartbeats for the tink of the button to echo back up the steps to Kurt. He couldn't remember how to translate that into metres – or if this method of measurement could even be used for anything that wasn't a well – but at least he now knew that at least there wasn't a sudden drop ahead.

He could only hope he was nearing the bottom of the steps, although for the first time, he wished he wouldn't find Blaine. For his best friend to have been down here for he knew how long was heartbreaking.

Several moments passed. Kurt tried to keep track of his heartbeats but they were too fast and his concentration too unfocused, and so he lost count after a mere five. He came across and threw the button twice more, trying to keep his strength and trajectory the same, but then it bounced off a curve in the wall and disappeared. And Kurt was left with no choice but to follow the bend and wonder how deeply he'd come.

His own pulse and steps and breath seemed interminably loud in his ears, and that is why it took so long to realise that it wasn't only his breaths he could hear. Somewhere in front of him there was someone else, their breath jagged and uneven and coloured with an animalistic whine. It sounded large and dangerous – oh, god, what if it was another of those creatures? Kurt had . . . killed one before, but that was entirely accidental, and he was already injured. If he died here, would his body die as well? Would all his hope and work go to waste, leaving Blaine here alone forever? He hoped – prayed, God help him, if He really existed – that Carole would help his dad through this.

A painful, plaintive cry snapped Kurt from his terror. Animalistic, yes, but also curiously familiar. Heart-wrenchingly, optimistically familiar. And not too far away, although the echo made it difficult to be certain.

With his heart pounding against his chest, battering away all the stubbornly clinging fear and denial, Kurt picked up the pace. He was steady on his feet despite his shaking legs, and it seemed like hours and seconds before his foot forcefully met the floor instead of another step. The pain rocketed up his leg and he staggered with a yelp, but even as he gained his balance he was looking round wildly, tilting the torch as far away from his body as he could.

The staircase was in a corner of a room. It probably wasn't a particularly large room; the light reached the opposite walls, even though it was faint, and it caught upon polished metal devices hanging off the walls.

But Kurt didn't notice the room's size or the torture decorating the walls because the light had also been caught on vertical poles splitting the room in two; and on the other side of those poles was a twitching lump on the floor – a twitching, person-shaped lump with curls on top of its head.

"B-Blaine?" he said, voice cracking and shaking. He carefully crept closer, eyes darting every which way to find the door to the cell and to make sure nothing was going to attack him.

The lump came fully into the light; Kurt saw black curls, the same slacks and shirts that filled his closet and school corridors, and before he had even fully processed, he had wrenched open the unlocked cell door, had dropped the torch along the way, and was lain across Blaine's body. "Blaine, Blaine," he said, tears falling onto Blaine's cheeks because he was here, and his chest was moving without a ventilator, and Kurt hadn't failed. Blaine's eyelids twitched and he groaned, and Kurt caressed his best friend's cheek and held him close.

Kurt had no idea how to wake up again, or how to take Blaine with him, but they were together again. Everything would be okay.

* * *

**End notes:** Finally! Blaine's back! Because it's been so long since his last appearance, here are two teasers for you about chapter xv: 1. _lots_ of Klaine interaction – seriously, lots and lots and lots of it; and 2. the chapter will end with a twist. (In other words: there'll be something good when I start up again in a week or two.)


End file.
